


Corruption

by An_Ephemeral_Walk



Series: Mixed Media [1]
Category: Cuphead (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Despite the first sentence, Gen, The debtors got an upgrade to god status, ain't that the way of things, and i dont know if there will be any romantic pairings so i'm leaving that for later, and yet they're still messed up, hilariously enough devil isn't the main villain, i seriously hope that amperstand means platonic and not slash, i've posted three things and i still don't have a grip of the tags, no one dies, or stays dead, who's ready for adventure!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-07-11 05:05:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 179,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15965315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/An_Ephemeral_Walk/pseuds/An_Ephemeral_Walk
Summary: Deities, beings of immense, incomprehensible magic of ancient sorts. Often prayed to by lowly mortals for whatever falls under their magic’s influence. None had thought that their beloved deities could ever be just as faulty as them. That is, until a century ago, when the corruption began. It started slowly, but grew faster than any could process or prevent, and so, their once cherished gods were locked away on Inkwell’s Isles. Trapped and bound to their home with the hope that they’d regain themselves, best the corruption, and take up their roles once more.It’s been so long that even those precious few deities who hadn’t fallen had almost given up on ever seeing their fellow gods return. The god of fortune was the last one to try his hand at surveying what the current state was, and rumors had it he’d been captured by the Devil himself on Isle three. The god of wisdom and magic, known as Elder Kettle, hopes the children he finds, clearly future gods, are the answer. But they're too young to be of any help currently, he has to raise them first.Too bad Elder Kettle had fallen into a bit of corruption on his own. Too bad he simply didn't tell his charges need to know information. Damn shame really.





	1. Drink me

Cuphead died right in front of his terrified brother on one fine day.

He hadn’t meant to, but then, no one his age really believes something as innocent as a potion sitting out in the open could kill them in a short span of time.

====-====-====-====

Honestly it had started exactly as most every day started when Elder Kettle wasn’t there. The boys, twin porcelain brothers, were used to their caretaker, also known as the God of Wisdom and Alchemy, disappearing for days on end. Most of the time he’d vanish for a month or so and pop back in, as if to be sure they weren’t dead yet. He’d stay long enough to ensure the never emptying water stores were properly working, drop off any items he’d found and figured the boys would take interest in, and pop back off. Neither brother really felt like that was entirely wrong though, knowing that Elder Kettle had a job to do, being one of the very few Deities of the world not trapped on Inkwell or Corrupted.

Still, they had created a small game where they’d guess when Elder Kettle would next return, the winner getting an extra piece of candy. Cuphead, idly rolling his head so his straw slid around the rim, sucked on strawberry flavored victory. Mugman didn’t mind though, he wasn’t that fond of that flavor anyway. He looked out the window, already unable to see Elder Kettles silhouette against the horizon. A bit sad he wouldn’t be able to ask for Elder Kettle to read a bed-time story to them before he vanished again, but deciding lingering on that disappointment wouldn’t help, he looked for something to distract him.

They couldn’t wander too far from the house as per Elder Kettles request, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t leave the house in general. So, without looking at his twin, he got up from the floor and headed for the door. As expected, Cuphead followed after a moments pause. The boys relied on one another so often they’d become experts on how to read the other’s intent by the time they reached their fourth birthday. They were twelve now, needless to say they’d had _plenty_ of time to learn that when one headed for the door, the other should too.

====-====-====-====

Their house was located on a cliffside overlooking the sprawling ocean below. Four stories below, waves could be heard crashing against the smooth cliff face, a sound that always helped lull the boys to sleep and kept the house from being too quiet. If they looked hard enough, far out into the distance, kissing the horizon, the outline of the domain of the Deities could be seen. Elder Kettle had told them, back when they were barely big enough to reach his mustache with their tiny hands—that to go there was a death sentence. If Mugman thought long enough, he could almost recall the story of Inkwell Isles verbatim.

‘ _Long ago_ ,’ Elder Kettle had started, lowering his voice to add a hint of mystery to his tale. ‘ _The Deities of the world roamed free, protecting and helping and interacting with all mortals of the world. They’d aid whoever needed it, only requesting a word of thanks and a gift or offering as payment. The offering would never have to be expensive or grand. Why, Goddess of the hearth, or rather, Bon Bon as she called herself, would protect households simply because someone had offered her a recipe or two. Those were the heydays of the world.’_ Elder Kettle had leaned back around that time, gaining a wistful gaze in his eye. Cuphead had eagerly demanded he continue, just about toppling over onto Elder Kettles lap from his perch on the rocking chairs arm. Elder Kettle had laughed, readjusted the tiny child, and done as requested. Mugman had rested his little head on his hands, just as eager but a bit more patient.

‘ _You see, every deity has a sibling, but, before you ask, my sibling vanished long ago, before any of the other Deities were even speaking their first words! That’s not important to this tale however. Each sibling needs the other to properly function as needed. Without his sister, Cagney Carnation, or the God of nature if you want his title, would only have full influence over a tiny portion of land. He needs Rumor Honeybottoms, Goddess of Fertility, to spread his plants across the globe. Or he did._

_Long before you were born, there came about something we simply called the Corruption. All but a small handful of Deities fell to their own sins, becoming a threat to those that once cherished the very sight of them. Some fell due to their siblings no longer doing as they were supposed to, at least in the case of Phantom Express, God of the dead. Mortals, fearing for their lives, used various means to round up the Corrupted Deities and trapped them back on their home island of Inkwell. And there they stay to this day, unable to escape. Just recently I got wind that the God of Fortune had tried to check up on his fellow Deities but I haven’t seen him since then and it’s been a few years.’_ Elder Kettle had leaned in after a long pause, pulling the boys into his lap so he could look them directly in the eye, his gaze severe.

‘ _Don’t you boys ever go near those Isles. They haven’t seen a mortal in a century and didn’t exactly leave on a good note. Not to mention that that’s where one of the stations the Phantom Express used to use to drop souls off in Hell is.’_ He’d then told them that if the gods ever did escape, the house had a barrier around it to protect them from the gods wrath. The boys had whined when Elder Kettle declared he was going off again, still not used to him leaving at that age.

Mugman watched Cuphead chase after a butterfly they hadn’t seen before, waiting for the best time to pounce. He sometimes wondered how Elder Kettle evaded the Corruption, considering he hadn’t even had his own sibling with him. Mugman couldn’t imagine his brother being taken from him or leaving him behind, and because of that, he had refrained from asking. Cuphead had just shrugged and guessed it was because Elder Kettle was too old and wise to fall to his own faults. It was as good a reason as any, and Mugman had taken it as if Elder Kettle had said it himself.

The moment came, and Mugman snapped his hands out, catching the butterfly as it flew past his face. Cuphead cheered, waving the bug net in his hands in celebration and the two carefully examined the tiny creature now perched on Mugman’s hand. It fluttered its leaf green wings a couple of times, as if testing its freedom. It went from Mugman’s gloved hand to Cuphead’s nose once satisfied.

“I read that butterflies drink blood.” Mugman spoke up, voice casual. Cuphead shot Mugman a dirty glare even as he went to wave off the bug. Though he didn’t have blood, being porcelain, the thought of a critter that had blood on it or in it on his nose was gross enough.

“You are horrible.” Cuphead grumbled, pouting as the butterfly fluttered away. Mugman snickered, dodging the weak retaliatory swing of the bug net still in Cuphead’s hand. The boys broke into a chase, playfully scuffling about even as their playfighting brought them closer to the edge of the cliff. They learned long ago Elder Kettle had placed a barrier up to prevent them from falling off of it anyway so there was no reason to be worried.

Their running around lasted for a few hours until Cuphead grew too thirsty to continue. Mugman sipped at his soul liquid, well aware his habit, while not dangerous, didn’t exactly rehydrate him. Porcelain beings like him and his brother didn’t need to eat, but liquid was good to have if they wanted to safely replenish and refresh their soul liquid. Still, he didn’t think they’d been able to clean any of the dishes in the kitchen, which meant Cuphead would whine.

True to form, Cuphead _did_ whine about being too thirsty to clean a single glass, sending Mugman a pleading pout. Mugman, well versed in his sibling’s habit of pushing kitchen chores onto him, simply accepted it.

“Why don’t you go rest your poor old bones while I do dishes you were supposed to do yesterday.” Mugman replied, giving his brother a motherly pat on his head and ushering him towards the back of the house. Cuphead grumbled, not happy with being treated like he was broken, but ultimately satisfied he was going to get his water without having to do any work for it. He wandered off towards his room while sounds of water running drifted from the kitchen.

However, instead of going to their shared room to relax, he chose to explore Elder Kettles room. They had never been told _not_ to go into his room after all. He’d simply instilled in them that when in the presence of anther person’s domain, everything was fragile and precious. So, Cuphead figured it would be fine as long as he didn’t bump anything or break anything. Leaving the door open behind him so Mugman would know where he went, he poked around the shelves.

Everything, unsurprisingly, was dusty. Elder Kettle, wanting to put a sense of duty into the boys, had refrained from crafting anything that would chase away dust. Unfortunately, he’d forgotten his room was also in the house, and considering neither brother had really entered except for a few scant times, it was almost always dusty. The room was aglow with various potions in various states of time worn decay. He recognized a few of the healing potions and energizing potions. Mostly because Elder Kettle often made those in case either brother got hurt while he was gone. But, a lone potion on the table across from the bed, he didn’t recognize. Giving a light hum of interest, he wandered over, standing up on his tip-toes so he could examine it closely without touching it.

“Cuphead? What are you doing in Elder Kettle’s room?” Mugman asked from the doorway. Cuphead, not expecting to hear his brother so close, let out a surprised shriek and jolted. Luckily, in his flailing he missed the bright blue potion. Even so, with Mugman pressing his hand to his mouth to cover his fit of giggles, Cuphead was unamused. He glared at his blue brother, then stuck his tongue out at Mugman and grabbed the potion off the table. Mugman stopped laughing, frown immediately curling his mouth down.

“Cuphead put that back.” Mugman scolded, though he sounded far more exasperated than worried. Cuphead swirled the liquid in the glass, eyeing the way the glow it cast would shift the shadows on his hand. Mugman stepped into the room, glass of water in hand.

“Oh come on, it’s probably just one of those repair potions Elder Kettle always said he’d make after you got that chip in your handle.” Cuphead mused, as if appealing to his sibling. Mugman gave him a look that spoke volumes of just how effective it was.

“Brother, you know as well as I do that Elder Kettle doesn’t always make the things he says he makes. Remember when you were turned black for a few days?”

“Of course I do! Best games of hide in seek we had in a while!” Mugman got the distinct impression he’d done the opposite of talking his brother out of drinking a random potion, and sighed.

“If you’re so thirsty, just drink the water you claimed you’d die without not four minutes ago.” He held the glass out towards Cuphead, who whined in response.

“But water is so plain!” He slouched, careful to not shift the potion too much. Mugman lost his unimpressed look and just went with showing how he actually felt.

“I’m just not sure messing with it is a good idea. At least see if any open books show it?” He tried the ‘cute, worried head tilt’ approach, and it worked. Cuphead put it back on the table, scrambling up onto the chair a moment later. Mugman put the glass down and went to help.

It took a few minutes, but ultimately it was the book on the floor next to the bed that gave them their answer.

“And you’re sure it has a raspberry smell?” Mugman asked, reading the description carefully.

“It’s my favorite flavor Mugs, of course I’m sure.” Cuphead retorted, rolling his eyes. Mugman nodded, ignoring the affronted tone in Cuphead’s voice, and continued reading.

“So it’s the potion of awakening, since the potion for refurbishing leather smells like cherries.” He put the other book down, satisfied they had the correct mixture. “It says it’s harmless to mortals, and that’s it… Why would a potion say that?” Mugman had seen plenty that would say ‘safe for drinking, safe for birds, not safe for children,’ and such, but never one that just said mortals were good to go. While he pondered on just what the writer meant by that, Cuphead decided they’d learned enough.

“You read the page, it’s safe! Down the hatch!” He cheered, and before Mugman could ask why a god would be making something dangerous to him, Cuphead downed half the bottle in one go. Mugman felt a wave of terror wash across his spine, chilling his soul liquid. Something deep within him told him Cuphead shouldn’t have done that.

“Cuphead! I wasn’t done reading!”

“Relax, it said it awakens, which probably just means its an energizing potion under a different name! Look, I’m fine!” He spread his arms out, as if to show how fine he was. Right as the hand carrying the bottle extended fully, it broke clean off at the shoulder. As it shattered on the floor, scattering soul liquid and porcelain all the way to Mugman who was still kneeling on the floor, Mugman froze right as he was opening his mouth to scold Cuphead again. The boys stared at the broken limb, far more broken than it should have been, then, his handle cracked off, dropping to the floor.

 Cuphead stumbled to his knees, his right leg breaking apart on impact, his left cracking so severely he toppled over onto his horrified brother’s lap. Mugman threw the book aside, catching his brother’s head as his torso began to split and break as if turning to dust. Mugman, with Cuphead’s head in hand, threw himself to his feet and raced for the nearest green potion. Tears blurred his vision, while he threw aside useless bottles on the shelf blocking him from the thing he knew was supposed to heal cracks. His hand wrapped around it, and his brother’s head crumbled into dust in his grip.

Cuphead’s soul liquid splattered to the floor, no longer supported by his head, splashing Mugman’s shoes and socks.

Mugman, breath hitching, dropped the potion in his hands, and screamed.

====-=====-=====-=====

So, Cuphead hadn’t meant to die, but he had no way of knowing what Elder Kettle had never told him. Thus, he stared at his siblings sobbing figure, unable to do anything to soothe Mugman. He’d woken up, based on the clock on the nightstand, five minutes after having the last thing he ever see be his brothers heaving chest. He’d immediately gone to comfort his brother, only to go right through him.

‘ _Too young.’_ Something within him had said plainly. He’d then reached for everything near Mugman to see if he could grab _anything_ , only to simply nudge things a scant millimeter. Growing more and more upset that he was useless, he simply sat on the floor—noting angrily that he didn’t go through the wooden surface—and waited for something new to happen. Mugman had gone quiet a minute ago, shaking instead of wailing as he had been doing before. Cuphead poked at his remains, scowling when his soul liquid didn’t even ripple at his touch.

He’d cry about being dead later, all he wanted at that point in time was to hug Mugman and rage at Elder Kettle.

‘ _Focus.’_ The thing spoke up once more, returning his attention to his brother. Mugman had turned his head to stare at the book, a blank look on his face that Cuphead had only seen twice when Mugman had been caught in some of Cuphead’s more robust pranks. It was his thinking face, and it always meant bad things for Cuphead’s health. Weakly standing on shaky legs, Mugman slowly returned to where he’d thrown the book, picking it up from the floor. Though he looked at the pages, his focus didn’t seem to move from one of the lines on the page with that potion.

Mugman folded the page corner, choosing to go the quick route rather than look for a bookmark. He slammed the book closed and strode out of the room, his face still blank. Cuphead followed, quietly calling out for Mugman, worry building in his gut. Mugman, unable to hear him, continued to their room where he began searching the closet for something.

Cuphead watched his twin begin throwing things out of the closet, scattering various items across the floor. Mugman exited the closet with a satchel slung diagonally across his body; the book from before tucked carefully inside the black bag. He then began putting a few other things, like a switchblade Elder Kettle had brought them when Cuphead had told him he wanted to learn wood carving, and a few shirts. He’d also changed into clean clothing, and sturdier boots.

Storming back to Elder Kettles room, suppressing a budding sob in his chest, the brother in blue shoved healing and repairing potions in the bag. Using the shirts as padding, he raided the house for various items one would use on a journey. Cuphead called out his brother’s name loudly, angrily stomping his feet when his hand went right through Mugman’s arm. Mugman paused at the door to the house, and turned back to look towards the back of the house.

“Cuphead, it says mortals, that means the deities _have_ to know about it too, if only because that means one of them tried it. I don’t know when Elder Kettle is going to show up again, so I’ll go where the other gods are.” He spoke out to the not so empty halls. Cuphead’s soul liquid just about solidified in his sudden burst of terror. “If Elder Kettle comes back, he’ll surely have a way to tell me while I’m on Inkwell. Don’t worry, I’ll find someone to help me fix this.” Mugman’s grip was tight on the strap across his chest, and his voice shook, but his stance and gaze were firm. Though he didn’t know if his brother was there or not, he felt the need to tell Cuphead what he planned anyway.

With a single nod, he turned on his heel, and closed the door right as Cuphead lunged for him. Screaming for Mugman to come back, he raced to the window, watching Mugman’s small figure run for the dock both knew had a single boat Elder Kettle used to take the boys fishing. Throwing every ounce of his desperation into his hands, willing them to grab the door handle because there was no way he was getting through the walls—he’d tried while following Mugman, it hadn’t gone well.

As if to answer his need, his hands really _did_ grab the door handle, turn it, and even throw the thing open. He cheered in joy, took a step, and was sent flying back against the fireplace. Crashing to the floor, feeling no pain despite the fact that a throw like that would have broken him before, he stared at the door blankly.

‘ _Barrier.’_ The thing helpfully supplied as he slumped against the wall and screamed.


	2. Sail Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so it starts, so many new things at once can really wear at a kid, especially one with a temper like Cuphead's.

Two days.

It took Elder Kettle two days to return to the home, brought back by his barrier reacting to the presence of a God hitting it. Worried for his children, he’d raced back as fast as he could. If one considered stopping to observe a class full of students ever ready to learn about Alchemy. He figured his barrier was strong enough to withstand an extra hour or so under attack, so he stuck around.

During that time, Cuphead had finally got it through his head that his physical body was dead. He’d cried and screamed for anyone to tell him what to do now. His terror at being dead had turned to anger at being unable to do anything, which had then turned into a strange need to exact judgement on the person that had taken them in and failed to raise them as he should have. Judgement for what, he had no idea, but the thing whispering comfort to him, every once in a while, would cackle in a terrifyingly barbarous manner every time he thought of it.

He’d tried everything he could to escape the barrier, confused as to why it let Mugman through, and even him earlier that day but not anymore. Whatever the reason, it was two days before answers of all sorts would get to him, and by then he was terrified that his brother was either dead already or in grave trouble. Mugman was never violent, didn’t really have it in him to do more than play fight. He’d be an easy target for mortal hating deities.

‘ _He’ll be fine.’_ The thing whispered in his head. He scowled at the unseen being, telling it to zip its mouth shut unless it had any answers to offer.

‘ _Too soon.’_ It replied, and then fell silent entirely. He angrily threw himself onto Mugman’s bunk. It had been about a day and a half before he’d been able to touch something without having to focus, and he’d used it to show just how displeased he was in his now prison. Their room was the only one spared, if only because Cuphead didn’t want to mess up the last things his brother had touched, just in case he didn’t return.

Whenever he imagined any of the few gods Elder Kettle had mentioned here or there near his sibling, his soul liquid boiled. In an effort to calm down before he broke another door, he pulled himself off the bed and went to the closet with the full-length mirror to take in his new appearance once more. He’d discovered his reflection ten hours after Mugman had gone, and four hours after he’d sobbed and wailed in the way only a terrified child could.

His rim was now pure gold, with a delicate pattern he’d seen on some desert pottery winding its’ way around his handle. His handle had a single, thin line of gold down the length of it. All down his back, a feather had been etched in and outlined in gold, right on top of where a spine would be on a fleshier being. He’d been confused about it for a while, and only silence had answered him. He didn’t care to notice any of the other changes, they didn’t matter to him as they would only add to his confusion.

Two days of having nothing to do but fret and worry and rage, it was no surprise his reaction to Elder Kettle suddenly reappearing in the living room was less than grateful. He’d heard the familiar crackle of a calling spell long before he’d even cleared the doorway. He heard Elder Kettle call out for them in fear, and between one moment and the next, he was latched onto Elder Kettles middle, trying to fit all the needed words in one fast go, only confusing Elder Kettle more. The child part of him used the impromptu hug for just a spot of weak comfort, the new part of him demanded he use the grip to smash the man who’d raised them into the table.

“Cuphead, Cuphead please settle down!” Elder Kettle cried, prying the child off of his body so he could get a good look at him.

“Elder Kettle it’s horrible!” Cuphead continued, mind settling down, knowing he needed to explain as quickly as he could so he could sooner get to Mugman. “I—”

“You drank that potion!” Elder Kettle interrupted, steam blowing out of his nose. Cuphead shrank back, recognizing the sign of anger. The thing in him let out a soul chilling hiss in response to his fear. “Cuphead, Where’s Mugman, did he drink it too? Oh you weren’t supposed to do that boy! What were you thinking!?” Elder Kettle settled a moment later, fully taking in his charges new appearance.

“I… We looked it up in your books! It said it was harmless to mortals and that’s what I am!” Cuphead paused, looking down at the strange linen strips winding their way down his arms. Elder Kettle stumbled back until he toppled into his rocking chair, mind racing.

“What are you saying child? You’re not a mortal, you’re a god!”

“What?! No I’m not! You never said anything about that!”

“I thought I had!”

Cuphead threw his hands up in frustration, the hissing grew louder.

“What do you mean you thought? You’re the god of wisdom, aren’t you? Aren’t you wise enough to know what you’ve said?” Cuphead, a tinge of desperation in his voice, gestured angrily at Elder Kettle. A look of pure horror crawled onto the old god’s face.

“I…”

‘ _Corruption.’_ The thing spoke up, ‘ _Our dear Scale isn’t here, Judge as we are.’_

Cuphead reared back away from Elder Kettle, nearly tripping over the rug. Elder Kettle gained a green tint, ill with something Cuphead could guess was related to the realization that he’d not done his job.

“You lied.” Cuphead accused. “You said you weren’t corrupted, but you are. You’re the god of wisdom, and you didn’t share what you were supposed to.” His voice dipped to a whisper, but the budding anger was all too clear. Elder Kettle stared at his shaking hands, clasping them together tightly to try and ease the tremors. He’d been so sure he had escaped falling to his faults, but, with one of the only chances of him ever seeing his fellow deities again back to as they were before standing before him, he felt reality hit him.

“I… Tell me what happened, and I’ll start making up for it the best I can.” The fact that Mugman wasn’t in the house and the house was destroyed told him plenty but he needed to know everything. So, voice heavy with bitter anger, Cuphead told him. Cuphead fully blamed Elder Kettle for his current situation. Had he known he was a god, he wouldn’t have even taken a single sniff of that potion and his brother wouldn’t have had to hold his crumbling body in his hands.

“That is the potion’s job. It did exactly as it was intended to do. You see,” Elder Kettle shifted, deciding to get comfortable as he was going to be explaining a lot if he had any hope of getting Mugman safely back. “I found you two children when you were no older than a day. Every deity has a way of knowing when another deity is around, and since I knew my fellow gods were all locked away, it was obvious that you two were new gods. The first in four centuries actually.” Elder Kettle paused. Before, Cuphead would have whined about him pausing, now, he only glared.

“That potion was intended for you when you grew older, more sure of the world and knowledgeable of your Domain. You see, every deity starts as a mortal, and eventually, either with time or with the aid of that potion, you shed that shell and are reborn as a god. It depends on a number of factors that aren’t important, since, you’ve skipped ahead.” He stared at his charge, taking in the new appearance, behind his boy stood an odd shadow he could barely make any features out of. He got the impression it was gazing into his very soul and reading his failures.

“Whatever the case, you’ve got to get to your brother and get him away from the gods before they get him. He’s—”

“So what I’m hearing is you failed the one thing you’re supposed to be good at.” Cuphead interrupted. “I’m hearing that I’m now dead because the God of Wisdom didn’t share any wisdom.” The shadow behind Cuphead gained a malicious smile, as if reading his attempt to fix his mistake and finding it pathetic.

“Watch your tone!”

“No!” Cuphead snapped, the stress finally breaking him. “Because of you my brother had to watch me die! My brother, because he knows _you don’t ever bother to stay to_ oh, I don’t know, _raise your so-called charges,_ is out going to Inkwell where he could die. And you want me to watch my tone?! _I’m dead! I haven’t even grown out of that bed you build for us when we were five!_ How about you watch your inability to recognize when you’re like all the others?” He finished, soul liquid boiling in his head, eyes blazing with bitter wrath. Elder Kettle fell silent, mouth working but voice vacating the premise.

After a few minutes of silence while Cuphead calmed down, being reminded that had Mugman been present, he would have settled Cuphead down long before Cuphead had snapped. Elder Kettle quietly picked back up where he’d left off, if he couldn’t change the past, he’d certainly aim to fix the present.

“Gods aren’t mortal, and to become immortal, you have to die first. Usually, siblings fall at the exact same time, that way the Domain can properly balance between you two. Mugman didn’t drink the potion, so I’ve got no idea how you turning first will affect him.”

“So my brother might hop the mortal coil any second on top of potentially becoming a victim of whatever those deities could do to him.” Cuphead’s tone was dangerously low. He was stressed out enough as is, he didn’t need this on top of it. Elder Kettle weakly nodded.

“I can’t do much else but remove the barrier keeping you here and answer anything else you might question. I’m not… My domain isn’t battle, and since I’m corrupted, the Isles will be the last place I want to go.”

’ _Judgement?’_ Cuphead took in his caretakers slumped form, the tired resentment aimed inwardly, the shaking hands, and took a breath.

“It’s your fault I died. It’s your fault I didn’t know what we are, and it’s your fault he’s risking his life. If I get to my brother, and he forgives you, then I will too. But for now, I’m…” Cuphead looked at his hands once more. “I just want my brother safe and sound, and if you can’t help me beyond letting up this stupid barrier, then fine. But if I find out he’s died or been hurt, I’m coming for you first.” The thing was satisfied, and settled once more. Elder Kettle watched the shadow vanish into thin air, making it clear it had only shown itself to him because it wanted to. Whatever Cuphead’s domain was, it was a fierce one, which, considering Cuphead had to go to Inkwell, he felt only the slightest bit better.

He wondered if he should argue Cuphead blaming him for everything, but he found no real way to. God of wisdom not sharing the most basic information to children under his care, he had fallen.

He just wished he’d figured that out before making that potion. The two were silent, lost in their thoughts for a good few minutes.

“Wait…. You didn’t tell us about the gods either!” Cuphead began to shake once more. Laying on the table the now obvious fact that Mugman was going to Inkwell entirely blind. Elder Kettle, soul no longer being able to take everything coming clear to him at once, fainted.

“ _This is the worst day I’ve had thus far_.” Cuphead groaned dropping to the floor in a frustrated heap.

====-====-====-====

The seas were surprisingly calm, but then, Mugman had heard that it was because Wally Warbles, God of fair winds had been bound. Honestly Mugman couldn’t recall too much about the Gods, Elder Kettle hadn’t gone into too much detail with many of them at all. He had very little to go on, but with his brother dead, he had nothing else to lose.

The boat ended up sliding onto a sandbar, but as it was so close to shore anyway, Mugman couldn’t find it in himself to care. There was an odd pressure in the air, and to Mugman, it almost felt like those times when Elder Kettle’s potions would wash through their soul liquid, checking for cracks. Whatever the pressure was coming from, it didn’t prevent stop the twelve-year-old from stepping onto the Isle. The first mortal to do so in at least a century.

He nervously fiddled with his bags strap, trying to take in exactly what the place had become. The sky was cloudy and dark, thick clouds blocking out the sunlight. The land itself had oddly gray greenery, as if the life was torn from pieces of the land, leaving patches of decay. An odd fog stopped him from seeing anything beyond the tree line ahead of him. With waves quietly lapping on the shore being the only sound he could hear at all, Inkwell Isles looked nothing like the single drawing Elder Kettle had showed the brothers ages ago.

He figured he’d wasted enough time trying to spot any of the scary deities who’d apparently use him as a toy or punching bag if they ever caught him, so he inhaled deeply once, and strode forward. It had taken him half a day to reach the Isles, and he knew Cuphead hated waiting around. It would probably be worse being dead and all.

Drawing from the need to see Cuphead safe again, he strode forward. Whatever deity happened to run into him first would be how he’d judge the others.

====-====-====-====

The closest thing he could see was a small cottage that looked, upon closer inspection, like an exact replica of their home on the cliffside. Confused and intrigued, he went for the door, figuring there might have been something useful in there to help him better survive. The door swung open easily enough, the reason for it becoming apparent three seconds later when it simply fell off the hinges entirely, crashing to the floor with a loud bang. He darted in, pressing himself to the wall so he wasn’t just standing out in the open after causing the only noise he’d heard besides the waves.

When nothing came of that noise, he shuffled in, with the sudden realization that he didn’t have a light big enough to see anything more than a few feet ahead of him at a time. He had a lighter, but flicking it on simply showed it was only good at ruining his ability to see in the dark. So he shoved the lighter back in the bag and pressed on carefully.

It became obvious that this house had been Elder Kettles, or perhaps his siblings while on the Isles right about when he realized the kitchen even had the exact same setup. More confident with his movement, he scrounged in the dingy building, going straight for the room that was Elder Kettles in their own home. That door had fallen due to time, so he assumed that was common enough that no one cared about the noise anymore.

He poked at a few papers scattered on the floor, disappointed none of them looked like a map or a list of names he could work off of. He was starting to realize just how much Elder Kettle had skipped on telling them. He didn’t recall their caretaker ever mentioning his home on Inkwell, nor his possible neighbors, or anything about the Isles beyond ‘the gods lived there once, and are trapped there now’.

He’d scold Elder Kettle later, when he had something more useful to go on besides blind luck. Or if he ever got back home alive. Either or, and if he really thought about it, there was a good chance he’d be able to escape death enough to thunk Elder Kettle on the head a couple times if he _did_ die. With that happy thought in mind, he scoured the rest of the house.

In what would be their room in their house, there was simply an empty room devoid of anything. Disappointed he wouldn’t find anything of Elder Kettle’s sibling, he left that room behind, boots leaving marks in the dust.

The only helpful thing he found was a picture on the floor, faded from time and scratched up. It looked like a group photo of a few of the deities. He counted five that he didn’t recognize, and Elder Kettle. Even so, he could barely make out a flower glaring a blob, a woman perched on a potato’s shoulder, and a carrot and onion being the only two besides Elder Kettle giving the camera a smile.

So, though he didn’t get any names from it, he did have a general idea of what to look for.

====-====-====-====

The first living being he found wasn’t a god, at least, not as far as he could tell. He was fairly certain that corruption didn’t mean being rotted from a massive chunk of skull bitten right out. The thing on the bridge—the only bridge he’d seen leading to more of the Isle—shambled from one side to the other. It would bump into the rail, curse, and shuffle back, thunk on the other rail, curse, and do the same thing all over again. Had he been less worried about the bite taking out of it, he’d find it funny. As it was, he wasn’t too keen on getting close. Whatever the thing was, it couldn’t be mortal, but it didn’t look like a deity either.

He didn’t have to ponder too long, because something or other must have grabbed its attention, and it turned to focus on him. He stared at the apple, and gave a hesitant wave. The apple squinted at him, waved back, and went to doing what he’d been doing before. He wondered if the head wound was the cause of the fellows actions. Reaching into his bag and pulling a healing potion out, he left it on the rail of the bridge so the apple would see it during the next shuffle-thump-curse.

Indeed the apple did, and as if recognizing the thing despite not seeing one in decades, the apple eagerly snatched it up and downed the entire bottle. Mugman continued on across the bridge, following the path as best he could. He didn’t bother to see what the apple did, which meant he didn’t see the far more aware apple finally break his path and stare at the child wandering off to the right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The feather is the clearest hint I can give as to what deity i used as inspiration for Cuphead. Same with the scales mentioned. And if you've read my other stuff, you know I'm horrible with subtle hints. No deities yet! but hey, next chapter. Which will likely be written up today...because I'm so dearly in love with this thing that i can't help but want to write more.
> 
> Though, it's highly wise to keep in mind that there's now a two day delay in the events that occur with Cuphead and the events with Mugman. 
> 
> Inkwell got the silent hill treatment son!


	3. Rooting Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Cuphead's journey to Inkwell is just starting, Mugman's is ramping up.

Cuphead had to wait three hours for Elder Kettle to come too. He’d also taken that time to discover that throwing cold water on a metal being did exactly nothing. He figured three hours didn’t mean much considering the last time he had to wait was two days, even so, he was bitter. He also still had questions, and during the three hour wait, he’d resolved to keep his cool. Mugman would be upset with him if he just kept getting angry and shouty. He couldn’t recall the last time he fought with his brother if he thought about it.

He did recall that at some point in their childhood he’d made Mugman cry out of a need for petty revenge, for what he didn’t know, but he’d felt atrocious for days after. Even after Mugman had forgiven him. He had made a promise to not hurt his brother intentionally ever again and if his memory served correct, he’d kept that promise. Then again, Mugman was astoundingly coolheaded, seemingly always knowing just what set his sibling off. Thoughts of his brother brought back the vivid image of his sibling, surrounded by red tinted soul liquid, sobbing so hard his body rattled.

Needless to say the second Elder Kettle woke up, Cuphead was demanding to know as much as Elder Kettle could possibly get out while Elder Kettle dragged the old, unused boat out of the shed.

“I haven’t seen those gods in years, but I do happen to still have one of the books a mortal wrote about them before they fell. I’ll give it to you before you set off and you should take that time to read up on them as much as you can.” Elder Kettle started, a spot of amusement growing in his chest as he watched Cuphead try to help him push the boat out. The barrier had been torn down ten minutes after Elder Kettle had regained his senses, and Cuphead was savoring his new freedom.

“You’re far too young to teleport anywhere, and, in fact, you couldn’t even if you wanted to. At least, not to Inkwell. It used to be the central hub of the Gods, where we all lived while not wandering the world. It has a way of responding to our current states, so it’s likely not very friendly and any main worshippers that had still been on those isles are likely warped, if they’re even still alive at all. Now, with that barrier in place, no deity can really teleport there, in or out. Even I couldn’t. You, being a new god, should pass whatever inspection it will give you.” He heaved the thing down the hill towards shore, spotting the remains of Mugman’s small shoe prints in the sand.

Cuphead spotted them as well, and his face pinched with worry.

“Focus, I’ve got just a bit more to say before you can go. You’re a new god now, which means your Domain should be talking to you. All domains do that to all of us until we’re properly adjusted to its wishes. You’re far younger than any of the other deities, so unfortunately I’ve no idea just how your Domain will treat you.”

‘ _Better than you.’_

“No matter what, don’t try to go against it. It will certainly teach you better than I ever could. I have no idea if your Domain can keep you safe in Inkwell, but you don’t have much choice. I doubt I’d be able to keep you in that house for more than a year anyway. Because you’ve died, Mugman’s Domain should be stirring as well. Whether it will do anything yet, I don’t know.”

‘ _Our Scale.’_

“I can’t think of much else. Remember. Once you step foot on those isles, you won’t be able to leave unless you either cure the corruption or your brother awakens.”

“Dies, the word you’re looking for is dies.”

“He won’t stay dead is the point. Cuphead, if it’s any consolation, Domains are always protective of their new deities. Mine treated me like its’ child at first. If he does die, his Domain will awaken, and retaliate.”

“I’m not even a teenager yet.” Cuphead sniffled, once again remembering just what his situation was. Elder Kettle stared intensely at the boat, giving the child a few moments to collect himself.

“It’s half a day’s journey to Inkwell,” Elder Kettle spoke up once Cuphead was settled, and once the boat was in the water. “My old home is on Isle one, I highly recommend you start there. Read that book, figure out what you’ll be up against, and see if you can’t make friends with your Domain. You won’t need sleep any more, it’s nice, but it isn’t required so you should be able to catch up with Mugman using that.” He plopped the child, still smaller than him, still light enough for even his old body to lift with only minimal effort, and put Cuphead in the boat. The new god turned to face him as the boat was pushed off, and taken by the sea.

The thing, now more visible, the shadow, looking like a horrifying mashup of a hippo skull and a crocodile jaw wearing a robe lined with what looked to be made from the mane of a lion, stared at Elder Kettle as well. The jaw shifted open unnaturally wide, just taking a glance at that gaping maw Elder Kettle felt an eclipsing fear wash over his soul. For a splint second, he felt as if something was digging razor sharp teeth into his very being in a threateningly teasing manner. Then Cuphead was adjusting the hastily added sail, and the thing vanished as well as the feeling.

Elder Kettle, instead of feeling dread for his boy, felt nothing but utter pity for whatever crossed paths with that thing.

====-====-====-====

Mugman’s steps were hesitant, he would pause every few minutes to listen to his surroundings, wondering if corruption made the gods fans of surprise scares or not. He hoped not, he was terrible at handling them. Usually he’d throw whatever he had in hand at the culprit, or, most often, his brother. He hadn’t heard a single thing, but he did spy what looked like a shop, likely for visitors back when they’d need to buy a material offering. He wondered if it was still in use, but when he went to open the door, there was a massive wave of foreboding that caused him to stumble back. Dread pooled in his soul, so, taking a page from Cuphead, he followed his instincts and quickly moved on.

He followed the path to the right, hoping he hadn’t lost a potential clue to what that potion had done to his brother and if there were any cures. If not, he didn’t have a backup plan. The area around him was still unnaturally quiet, but he was starting to get used to it. Whatever had ben prodding at him earlier had since stopped, he just hoped it wasn’t the work of a deity.

Eventually, through the fog, he caught sight of a fence. Intrigued, he went to walk closer, until he heard voices. Frightened, he darted behind a tree, peeking out just enough to see flashes of something far bigger than him move around behind the fence.

====-====-=====-====

“Moe I swear to Hilda’s shiny forehead if you step on my purple carrots one more time I’m going to turn you into mulch.”

“It isn’t my fault you keep weaseling into my side! Keep to your own lines you headache!”

“The only headache here is your ugly ass”

“What ass? I don’t have one!”

“Guys please, this is the fourth time today you’ve fought, just…”

“Oh no, don’t you start crying you jerk! If you’re going to make a bigger headache do it on your own side!”

Mugman darted back behind his hiding place, watching as one astoundingly huge onion being came out of the fog to sniffle on the fence. Deciding to take his chances, he edged closer, pulling the book from his bag.

====-====-====-====

“Excuse me? Would you happen to know any cures for this?” A small voice unfamiliar to Weepy had him pausing mid sniffle. He glanced down at a petite child holding a book out to him. Sighing, he leaned closer, squinting at the pages, he’d never been that great at reading.

“No, I don’t even recognize the name. But Psycarrot might know, hang on.” He called out for his brother, waiting for the carrot to stop trying to rip Moe out of the ground to come over. Psycarrot leaned down as well, scanning the pages until he was scowling.

“What’s this?”

“I was wondering if you knew of any cures for this.” The child repeated himself, hesitantly pulling the book away from them.

“Nah kid, botany in that regard isn’t my forte, you’d probably find better luck asking that prissy pile of fertilizer down the way.”

“Oh, thank you anyway.” The child put the book back in their bag, then turned on their heel to follow the path back to Porkrind’s. The duo watched him leave, then turned to find Moe staring at them like they were the most disappointing veggies he’d ever laid eyes on.

“Nice kid. I sure hope Cagney isn’t mean.”

“Guys… That was a mortal. You let a mortal just… walk away!” Moe screeched, flailing his arms. The other brothers looked at Moe, looked at the fading figure, and cursed, diving into the soil, scrambling in their own way to catch up to the tiny mortal. Bursting from the ground right in front of him, nearly knocking him over, they huddled around him. Examining him closely even as he very nervously fiddled with his bag strap.

“Can I help you?” He asked, voice shaky. The trio glanced at one another, then returned to gawking at him.

“Sure you can, we just got a few questions is all.”

“Oh, I’ll try to answer as best I can, but I really have to keep going.” Weepy cooed, ever weak to the younger mortals.

“First, are there more of you? How are the mortals out there? Are they dead?”

“Do you like vegetables? Which is better, onions, carrots, or potatoes? Are all of you so small now? How old are you?”

“How did you get here?” The child held up his hands, motioning for them to hush. Obediently, they did so.

“Yes there are, my caretaker said they’re surviving, but not…flourishing? Yeah, no, they aren’t dead. I’ve never had a vegetable, I don’t need to eat after all. But I like the color orange so I guess carrots? I’m twelve, and I have no idea how tall I’ll get, but I can say my brother is just a few centimeters taller than me.” He took a breath, then continued. “I got here by boat, now, I’m really sorry, I’ll be happy to talk to you after I’ve gotten what I needed here. Please excuse me.” With that, he carefully stepped around the trio. It was Psycarrot that stopped him.

“One last question,” He paused, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Do the mortals remember us?” The child, because that’s what he was, paused.

“Of course, but, well, my caretaker just told me the general facts about Inkwell and the…uh.. really I should be going.” He eased around Psycarrot’s fingers, easily as long as he was tall, and ran right into Moe.

“Hold up little cup, why don’t you stick around a bit? You know, Inkwell isn’t exactly friendly to your type. Why, we’ll be more than glad to keep you safe in our garden.” He loomed over the boy, something the boy _visibly_ wasn’t fond of.

“Well goodness, as I’ve said I’ll gladly talk to you after I’ve gotten what I needed. Now, if I recall correctly, my caretaker said deities work on a give and take basis, I’ve given you answers, you’ve given me nothing.” Mugman almost sounded scolding, it was enough of an odd tone to have the trio back off a bit. They glanced at one another, unsure of just what kind of caretaker would figure that part into raising a kid, and went to ask the boy who his caretaker was. Only to find him missing.

====-====-=====-====

Mac went into action the second he spotted an opening, pulling Mugman into the bushes, putting himself between the gods and the child so his white porcelain would be hidden. The two waited while the gods reacted rather comically to his sudden disappearance, darting around, not checking the bush right beside Moe’s arm. They eventually went back towards their garden and Mac let out a sigh.

“Sorry, I’m still recovering.” He whispered to the boy. Mugman hesitantly smiled, glancing nervously at the gods. “Give it a few minutes, they’ll forget about you, they’ve never had the best memory since coming here.” He carefully moved from the bush. “It’s been so long I bet. I used to worship them you see, took care of their garden when they were gone.” Mac sighed, forlornly watching the gods fight and argue amongst themselves.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how did you get that injury?” Mugman asked, moving out of the bush so it was between him and the garden, keeping him hidden. Mac winced, rubbing at the bite that looked far smaller than before.

“Moe…Those are the gods of the harvest. They used to watch over all us kinds and…well…the harvests that would keep all of us fed. Didn’t really like how farmers were starting to try and experiment with only planting the crops that gave the most food. I happened to be one of those caught in their ‘punishment’ spree. Stay away from the gods kid. They’re not—” Mac froze as the ground burst open directly behind him. Mugman flailed enough to trip on a root, falling back right beside the bush.

“Hot damn it is you!” Psycarrot bent so he could look at Mac upside town, sandwiching the man in with his lanky body. Mac lost all color on his face, going from a red apple to a white one. Mugman glanced around for any way to help the apple, and laid eyes on the lone shack in the garden.

“Boy we haven’t seen you in a long time! How are you still alive?” Moe, joining Psycarrot, poked at the wound, causing Mac to wince and pull away. He ran right into Weepy, the onion was glaring at him, face pulled into an ugly pout.

“You got into those ‘longevity’ things _didn’t you_. You know we hate those so called ‘scientists’!”

“No! I think it’s just a side effect of being here.” Mac, unable to spot an out, figured it was better he was caught than the still young mortal. That kid didn’t deserve what these three would do to him.

“Uh huh, sure! Sure,” Psycarrot pat Mac on the shoulder, nearly sending the worshipper to the floor. “And I’m a beet named Betty. But hey! I’ll forgive you for lying, you’re mortal…after all.” Psycarrot’s nails pierced Mac’s shoulder, digging in uncomfortably.

“Please…I’ve dutifully stood by all three of you.” Mac’s voice trembled more than his body did, he almost felt like crying. The trio simply glanced at one another, and _smiled._  

Before Weepy could grab one of Mac’s arm, there came a loud crackling sound. One all plant species feared on a near instinctual level. The group turned to the direction of the sound, where the shack, full of old gifts given by their favored people, spat out thick smoke tinged orange with the light of the fire. The trio shrieked, just about wailing over their precious gifts, and in that moment, Mac made a break for it.

Mugman, making sure his lighter was in the correct pocket, watched Mac break from being surrounded and run for the bridge. He silently cheered Mac on, even as the gods switched focus from Mac to their shed. Mugman had only checked to make sure it was empty before setting the place ablaze, so while he didn’t know the significance of the stuff inside, he knew it was worth burning if it meant helping Mac.

Psycarrot let out an enraged shout, prying open his third eye, something he hadn’t done in years. The garden behind him shifted, dirt shook, and the two brothers beside him merely watched the scene impassively. Mugman, peeking out from the shop’s corner, wondered if he should try regaining their attention in some way.

Mac tripped and slid his way across the bridge, banking on the knowledge that they couldn’t cross it to reach him without antagonizing the River God.

“My Gods, I swear I’ll eagerly await—" What he didn’t expect, was for a barrage of carrots to embed themselves in his body, sending him toppling to the ground. The fog around his body muffled the thud. The brothers glowered at the unmoving form, grumbling about how long it would take to regrow those specific vegetables.

It would take Mugman a few minutes to kickstart his mind once more, everything growing staticky after having watched someone die. The trio would have returned to their garden by then, now focused on trying to put out their shed.

Weepy cried over the loss of his favorite gloves.

Mugman silently, almost mechanically, turned to face the path forward. He shuffled deeper into the fog, heading for a small grove of trees. He didn’t think it wise to stay on the middle of the path anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Immortal isn't invulnerable. Mac learned this the hard way. A bite is easy to recover from, but getting shivved multiple times isn't. 
> 
> If you've read my other stuff, you know my word count likes to wander. So some chapters will be shorter, others longer. I don't like padding where it isn't needed. The next one should follow after the Lady update.


	4. River Sings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cuphead finally lands on Inkwell, the clock is turned back and Mugman runs into the next deity.

While Cuphead had never been too fond of long stints of reading, he did it anyway. Not entirely to learn about what the gods had once been, he didn’t think the past would help in regards to this sort of present. But because Mugman wouldn’t expect it, and that, as well as a need to be prepared for the first time since they’d learned how to read, kept him plowing through the pages.

According to the book, each deity was part of a set, but he knew that already. While not every set would be easy to tell, the fact remained that the gods came in pairs or triplets. The Root Pack were, thus far, the only trio that the book mentioned. Gods of the Harvest, while they fed the mortals of the land, the mortals fed them with praise and offerings much like any gods. He found it interesting that despite being important, at least how the book told it, the trio still defaulted to Cagney Carnation, God of Nature.

To Cuphead, that meant that Cagney would be harder to beat if he had to, for all he knew one of these gods was keeping his brother as a pet. The thing, apparently his Domain, let out an alligator-like hiss. Cuphead ignored it, deciding if it was going to posture and act all tough, it could show how tough it was after they landed. Flipping the page to continue, he made sure to glance up every now and then to keep the boat on course.

He estimated he had a few more hours before landfall, because coming ever closer, Inkwell Isles seemed to fade in and out of view. It was as if the Island was trying to shield itself from him but unable to stay hidden. That, or it was trying to show itself and something was shifting the fog to shroud the Isles as much as it could. He wouldn’t be surprised if it was one of the flying gods. Even reading about them before their fall brought up a few red flags on their attitudes.

He could safely say he wasn’t looking forward to meeting any of them, not unless the isolation fixed them. But, as Inkwell’s shadow fell over him, and as the thing locking all the gods in place squeezed down on him, he didn’t even bother to think he’d avoid a confrontation.

====-====-====-====

Inkwell, to the new god, was blatantly unfriendly. The Isle he landed on—after having spotted the boat Mugman had abandoned—felt almost as if the land itself was snapping at his heels. Then again, if Cuphead had done everything in his power to be a welcoming home to a bunch of deities, only to watch them fall to their own faults and be trapped in his home, he’d be bitter too. He already was and he’d only dealt with _one_ corrupted god.

However, something about the way it prodded his soul felt less bitter and more defensive. As if it was waiting for him to show how corrupted he was. His Domain helpfully retaliated by letting the magic examine it fully. Which left Cuphead feeling like someone was digging through his very being and he decided he liked his domain even less now. That is, until one of the Isles across the way returned with a gift of information. His brother wasn’t on this isle anymore, but further ahead, nearing the center of Inkwell Isle Three. In his wake were numerous stirred deities, all of whom prodded back at Inkwell, confused as it did something it hadn’t in years.

There was a pop, as if the air pressure had receded all at once, and he was on his own again. Still, the confirmation that his brother was still alive was grand. What was less grand was that he read that book, and that book specifically mentioned that Isle Three as one of the stations for the Phantom Express. He got the impression it wasn’t Salvation Station either.

Part of him wanted to ignore Elder Kettle and just plow ahead toward Isle Three. But Elder Kettle had seemed to believe it was wise. Despite his corruption ruining his ability to properly share wisdom; as evidence by the fact that when coming across the word ‘continent’ Cuphead had been confused until his Domain had supplied him with an answer by pointing at the picture of the world drawn in the center of the book. It hadn’t been impressed with his sporadic pockets of knowledge, so half his time was spent learning about the gods, the other was spent adding to his vocabulary.

_‘Complex mathematics learned, but the word ‘continent’ confused you…’_

====-====-====-====

As Elder Kettle had said, his house was indeed on the first isle. It was also far more dilapidated than any building he’d ever seen before. Sure, he’d only seen pictures of other buildings as well as his own house, but the point stood. The paint was dull, the roof was patchy and the entire structure seemed to lean to the left. He picked his way in, stepping over the downed door.

It was almost like stepping back into his childhood home, but only if he’d abandoned it for a good century, give or take. Everything was dusty, everything was rusted, nothing was in good shape. He didn’t think he’d find anything useful, because if his brothers’ boat was as close as it was, it was likely he’d gone through. That is, until he stepped on a spot where the table would have covered, and the floor sounded hollow. The faint foot prints wandering about in the dust showed he was right that his brother had been in the building, It also explained why the hollow spot hadn’t been disturbed.

Cuphead curiously stomped on the wood. The wood, ancient, having not seen a caring touch in a century, showed him just how terrible an idea that was. He went straight down when the wood gave out under him, groaning barely a second before doing so. Cuphead barely managed to catch himself on the edge of the hole, dangling above a pit of black. After staring at the darkness for a minute, his eyes adjusted enough for him to see a dim glow. Easing around the edge so he could latch onto the ladder embedded on the side of the hole, he descended far more carefully.

The room he found was a kaleidoscope of potions, so much so that it was almost dizzying to look at. All sorts of colors, all sorts of shapes, all over the place. He didn’t have a bag like Mugman had, so he’d come just as is. He didn’t even think those potions affected him anymore. He was under no illusion that he couldn’t die, but he didn’t think century old potions would have the intended effects. Not only that, but his new outfit didn’t exactly have pockets.

‘ _I will hold things for you, until you learn.’_

“You couldn’t have brought that up before I left?! What good are these things? You ever see a sludge green potion? I sure haven’t!” Cuphead wildly gestured at the nearest shelf, accidentally knocking a bottle onto the floor. The bottle shattered, sending red tinted liquid splattering across the floor. For the briefest of seconds, Cuphead saw his weeping brother once more, shuddering, clothing splattered with his soul liquid. He sucked in a shaky breath, slapping himself on the face to regain his senses.

“These things are probably useless, but! If you can hold things like you say, then what about a few of these more familiar ones?” A shadowy hand crept up from his own shadow, flickering in the glow of the potions. The hand looked _wrong_ like it was trying to be a cat’s paw and a regular hand. The nails were uncomfortably long, looking wickedly sharp even as a shadow. Still, he felt more curious than anything, so he handed over any bottle that caught his fancy. True to word, the bottles would vanish the second they touched the palm. He just about cleared an entire two shelves just to see if he could. Impressed with the new skill, he thanked the thing, because what else was he going to say at this point, and went back upstairs.

He gave a cursory glance around the house for any potential things he could use to help either him or Mugman when he found his brother, found little else other than a roll of bandages, then left the house. He wandered around the property for a bit longer, examining the old house, trying to picture Elder Kettle living there on his own. He wondered if the reason Elder Kettle didn’t stay with them as often as he should have was because he’d built a house to remember the past, not nurture the future. Whatever the reason, Cuphead hoped Elder Kettle was doing as he said and making amends. He could only imagine how dangerous teaching people potions with a scatterbrain was.

Lost in his thoughts, dangerous though that was, he didn’t see the body until he nearly fell over it. He barely managed to turn his fall into a leaping front flip, narrowly escaping a vegetable to the face. Incensed that he’d just about eaten dirt for the second time that day, he turned to see just what he’d tripped on, having not gotten a good look during his little stunt.

It was a corpse, festering with ants, awkwardly laying on the front with carrots of all things protruding out from just about every angle. His mind went blank, he stumbled away from the corpse, and his Domain, feeling his sudden distress, delicately rested two clawed paws on his shoulders, covering his eyes with another set of scaly paws.

‘ _Judgement, child, see his fate, remember it for when the feather pries into the sins of the murderer.’_

Flashes of a far less rotted apple happily presenting a healthy bushel of apples to bright and cheery gods danced across his half-blinded vision. He could almost hear the apple praising the trio, thanking them for giving him the honor of harvesting a new type of apple. He felt the joy when the man was allowed onto the Isle, granted the gift by the trio who seemed so proud, so glad, so _arrogant_ to have such a dutiful worshipper. Though he knew he was porcelain, and that biting porcelain was just about one of the worst things anyone fleshy could do, when he felt teeth sink into his head, he nearly sobbed. The fear choked his soul, the pleas for mercy, or an explanation, anything to understand why the gods so loved by the man would stand and let their brother bite a chunk from his flesh.

The hands covering his eyes moved away. He still couldn’t see beyond the echoes of the past, but the emotions were no longer present. He saw his brother leave a potion for the man, he saw the apple surrounded once more by the trio of gods, he saw the same bridge he was next to. Then he saw the carrot end the apple’s life, despite the begging and cries for patience. The last thing he could see from the apple’s perspective, was his brother, half hidden by a shop, watching the person he’d helped collapse to the floor in mute terror.

Those gods had frightened his brother. Cuphead turned away from the downed worshipper, looking across the river to the disturbed dirt the trio of gods had shifted. The feather etched into his back _burned_.

They scared his brother, and that just wouldn’t do.

====-====-====(Reminder, until otherwise stated, these events are in the past)====-====-====

Mugman’s disbelief fed into his determination to return to his brother with a cure. But on top of that, he wondered if there was something in Elder Kettle’s books that might cure the gods of their warped logic. That man had clearly once cherished those gods, even calling them respectfully despite the clear hostility. Which meant that before all of this, they were decent, at the very least, worthy of centuries of praise. But, if even a dedicated worshipper couldn’t get through to them, he wasn’t sure what sort of chance he had.

Still, he couldn’t just avoid all of them, not if he wanted to get his answers. He picked his way along the tree line, keeping just enough within the grove that he couldn’t be seen from the path, but still had a visual of the odd building up on the hill, peeking above the trees. The trio had glanced in that direction when they’d mentioned a potential clue, so he had no other option but to try for it. While he walked, still keeping a metaphorical ear out for any strange noises, he mused about various things becoming apparent the longer he looked around.

There was no bird song, no water splashing, only the barest trace of wind, and nothing else. Everything was silent, and the fog seemed to be the cause for it. He’d had his fair share of fog, considering the house was on a cliffside, fog was almost daily for him. But never had it muted everything the way this one did. He had no other explanation for why he could barely hear the fire after he’d cleared the fence. That or there was a deity that controlled soundwaves and he just wasn’t aware. Then again, he didn’t even know more than a handful of the numerous deities, and none by name. For all he knew, Cagney Carnation was a scarecrow.

He certainly hadn’t expected the gods of the harvest to be what they had been. Elder Kettle had been absolutely horrible with describing everything that he deemed ‘unimportant’. He hoped he didn’t get off on the wrong foot from the get go just because he didn’t recognize a deity at first sight.

Almost coincidentally, at the tail end of that thought, he heard a sound that hadn’t originated from him. Confused, he’d turned, and came face to face with a blob. The part of his mind not screaming helpfully brought up the memory of seeing the blob in that photo. The rest of him just screamed, internally. Because unlike Cuphead, Mugman didn’t often scream. The blob, having been staring at him almost religiously, didn’t expect what Mugman did instead of scream. The nearby branch he’d torn off in his brief moment of panic was more than sufficient enough to knock the blobs face into a full spin.

Mugman thought he should apologize, then he decided that no, anyone that sprang out at a stranger like that didn’t deserve an apology. He _did_ drop the branch though. The fact that it only made the blob’s face spin told him about its’ continued effectiveness clearly. He put some distance between them, carefully monitoring the new, potentially hostile being’s appearance.

“I just wanted to compliment you on your colors!” The blob screeched, once his face had stopped spinning. Mugman’s patience dropped even further. He didn’t have time for theatrics. He was in no way _that_ strong.

“Thank you, but I’m rather busy.”

“Busy trying to find me? Of course! You’ve got that look about you!”

“Mention the blue one more time and I’m going to leave.”

“What?” The blob reared back, gasping and wiggling his jelly like body. Mugman just edged away a step further. He wished he’d gone further still when a hand shot out of the body, wrapped around him like a hose, and dragged him closer.

“Now, I _know_ that some weak little mortal stealing color-schemes didn’t just oh so rudely address _the God of Rivers_! That would just be _silly!_ ” The god squeezed his noodle-y arm in a clear threat. Mugman dredged up every ounce of patience he had in his little body, lamented over the fact that these gods were worse than his brother, and put on an apologetic smile.

“Forgive me, I’m quite busy, with a time schedule and everything,” the arm loosened, just enough for him to squirm free. After a few moments of awkward silence, the god spoke up once more.

“Boy…girl… child, I let you go so you could make amends and properly address me. You know, bowing and pleading for mercy and all that. I’m a god after all and you should treat me as such! I’ll have you know I killed for far less!” Mugman, feeling his patience die a pathetic death, slowly reached for his boot. The god just continued ranting. “I’m Goopy le Grande! Do you know what that last bit means? It means I’m grande! I should be cherished! And instead I get bashed in the head by an underwater fan of all things! Those others? Those are deities, but me, I’m a God and I should always be addressed as such!” Goopy drooped, body going oval in his not so false distress.

“I work hard to filter rivers, keep things going swell and not even a single word of thanks! Not only that but get this, they lumped me together with the others! I’m le Grande, they’re...them. Why, even my sister is rather plain compared to me! Did you know what I found on the boats I sank? Trinkets dedicated to her! What kind of river barge has a charm for the ocean deity! It’s pathetic it is. I used to be cherished. ‘oh God Goopy! You’re too violent now! Please don’t sink my barge even though I didn’t get you a lavish gift before setting sail!’ Bah! I sank boats for fun! I was a giver, a helper of the mortals!” The shoe, after being untied, came off easily enough.

“Now I’m stuck here, and sure, I can’t admire my work since no boats really came through these rivers. Mortal skulls look so _nice_ underwater, all cracked and such. Oh, and have you ever seen someone as they drown? How their face turns blue and their hands grasp for freedom. Some of the amphibious ones I had to let go, too much effort to snap a neck you see. But that—” The shoe went right across his face, but unlike the branch, it continued smacking him silly. After around five hearty smacks, the barrage of shoe leather ceased and Goopy was face to face with a frosty porcelain child.

“I… Have wasted half a day _minimum_ getting to this forgotten chunk of dirt. All because one of you couldn’t work it through your thick heads that we mortals don’t have the things you do. Not only this, but I just saw one of you so-called ‘givers, helpers of the mortals’ stab a mortal a lot, _and I mean a lot. With carrots! So I’m going to say this only once you arrogant sewer smear. If you’re the reason the first thing I hear my brother say upon his return is ‘_ golly gee Mugs, what took you so long! I got so bored waiting! Did you know they only serve soup in hell? I don’t like soup Mugs!’ _I will personally come back here for you and you alone and find a way to drown a river god.”_ He gripped Goopy’s nose almost to the point of tearing it off as he pulled the terrified god closer.

“I’m not here to listen to you lot rant about how great it is to be gods while being stuck on an island because you were terrible at the thing you say you were so grand at. I’m here to fix a mistake one of your own did because he couldn’t be bothered to do his job properly. You _clearly_ won’t have what I need, so zip your wiggly lip and leave me _alone._ Good day, sir.” With that, he put his shoe back on, and stomped away. Goopy, shocked into utter silence, let the boy leave as requested. He couldn’t recall the last time anyone had actually hit him, or any of the other gods.

Numbly holding his face, he, for the first time in a century, truly looked at his surroundings. His dingy, lonely, meaningless surroundings. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d made the rivers move or pushed a boat across his domain. He shifted, disturbed the branch that had smacked him the first time, and froze. The boy just glanced back to be sure he wasn’t being followed, then continued on. Goopy carefully made his way back into the grove. Having the arrogance smacked out of him was more than enough reason to return to his home and reconsider his daily self-worship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm using the height in the game to describe the two brothers, so when i say small, i mean it.   
> As time goes on the Domain will speak less and less, if you don't like it, just bear with it for a little longer.   
> Both brothers are decently acrobatic, Cuphead just a little more so.  
> Poor Mac, deader than any chances the root pack have of getting out of a severe beat down.   
> Mugman is one stressed out boy, hopefully the next one he runs into is either on the mend from their corruption or nicer! I hope their corruptions are clear enough to figure out...  
> Hmmm....scarecrow Cagney...


	5. Into Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cuphead finally sees what his Domain is capable of, Mugman finally gets some sleep.

Cuphead felt odd. Like he was there, but wasn’t. His body felt lighter, for one. For two, if on a slightly different note, his shadow was writhing about, lapping at the soles of his shoes as if it was water. His vision was focused on the path ahead, leading to the garden where the trio awaited. Everything else was fuzzy, even to the point where he only realized his new markings in gold were radiating a faint light.

Whispers of voices he’d never heard before, all showering gods of the Harvest with praise echoed around his head. The closer he got to the garden, the more those praises turned to pleas until it was just people begging for mercy or food. He wanted to stop the noise, tell everyone he _knew_ wasn’t around to be quiet so he could focus on how he was going to deal with the first gods his brother had come across. Flashes of people wearing dusty clothing kneeling, crying in confusion as they and their towns starved teased his peripheral vision. Rotted crops of wheat or corn or vegetables he’d never seen before were strewn before the prostrated worshippers.

_‘Such horrible care. Come, our Scale has weighed their sins, it is time for our first meal.’_

_“_ You better not be talking about eating veggies, I’ve read those books! I know us kids are supposed to hate them.” His attempt at levity was met with an amused hiss right next to his shoulder. He shuddered, rubbing the linen wrapped loosely around his wrists nervously. Elder Kettle had told him a scant few things about Domains, all he had to go on was ‘listen to it, it might treat you like a child’. To him, that was about as useful as learning how to count cards.

Granted, if there was a deity based on probability and they turned out to be a pain he could probably mess with them. But, he had only seen one or two mentioned, and currently, those deities were on Inkwell if his memory served him right.

‘ _Later, they’ve noticed you. Give me time to set the stage?’_

Sure enough the trio—who had originally been hovering around the toasted remains of a building—were now focused on him.

“You! You got some _nerve_ coming back here after what you—”

“Moe stop. That ain’t the mortal from before.” The tallest of the trio grabbed the raging potato’s arm. His Domain wanted him to stall? He’d show it what he could do.

“Hey fella’s! Say, you see another porcelain sort like me wander by here?” He called out, hopping onto the fence, resting his arms across the top. Weepy edged closer, careful to not disturb his patch of the garden.

“Uh… Who are you?” He questioned, stopping when he was a few feet from the odd child. Cuphead grinned.

“Name’s Cuphead!” He once more felt the odd feeling of scouring through what he guessed were another person’s memories. His Domain, not as loud as before, smiled. He watched as the one before him eagerly helped new farmers learn when to plant what. Watched the onion gleefully show off a new sort of onion, claiming it sweeter than the others before it. He watched as the god wept acidic tears, searing the flesh from someone without remorse. To the god, they deserved to burn, rudely ignoring their modified seeds to brag about modifying ones of their own.

All while the smile on his porcelain face held firm.

“But really, he’s my dear twin brother and I’d hate for him to be alone.” The ground around them grew darker. “Who knows what would happen to him?” His smile widened. The carrot pulled Weepy away, staring at the odd child, third eye peering at him from a barely cracked open eyelid.

“There’s no way that kid is your brother. We would have known he was a god,” Psycarrot tried peeking at the child from his far more enhanced eye. All he could see was an endless sea of black. Cuphead didn’t see that though, he saw the tall god bringing about a field of lush food for a town he was particularly enamored with. The town gratefully accepted his aid, and he had to be pulled away to watch over other towns by his siblings. The porcelain child watched that very town flee into the forests around them, screaming for their lives as their fields filled the sky with pungent mold. Festering with disease as a show of just what happened to those believing themselves to have any right in breeding new plants on their own.

“Really, who are you? For all we know you could want that little brat dead.”

“We’ll have you know we called it first! If Cagney hasn’t turned him into a flowerpot that is.” Moe spat out a clump of dirt right at Cuphead’s feet. The boy didn’t so much as flinch. He was too busy observing Moe painstakingly craft new breeds of vegetables that would grow more, feed more. He watched Moe show off his crops to towns, only to realize that the townsfolk had already done what he was doing. They had taken cues from the gods, wishing to emulate their beloved deities. Instead, Moe became enraged. Believing the mortals were trying to one up him and his brothers, show that they were better. So, he proved them wrong. Countless starved, withering away with their once healthy fields.

Psycarrot, now openly staring at Cuphead with his third eye, tried prying into the inky abyss. It shifted, the nothingness bent, moved, until he could make out exactly what he was looking at. His third eye began to bleed profusely, even as he tried to back out. From the nothingness, a single gleaming eye peered back at him, bending as if the owner was mockingly smiling at him.

Moe and Weepy scrambled to get away from their sibling, unabashedly baffled as Psycarrot belted out an agonized wail. They turned to accuse the odd deity, or attack him, anything to defend their brother. But the child wasn’t how he’d looked before. He had black pits for eyes instead, even though both knew porcelain sorts couldn’t remove their eyes. Voids stared at them, the kid snickered, Psycarrot crashed to the ground. The two brothers did what they thought was right. Weepy went to help Psycarrot as best he could, Moe slung a heavy rock at the child.

The darkened soil turned pitch black. When Moe moved, an odd sound, like the ground they were now in was water rather than dirt, almost deafened them. Moe looked down, face pale, all around them, instead of the ground, pure black water pooled instead. The rock sailed harmlessly past the boy, he tilted his head to avoid it almost mockingly. From his empty eye sockets, red tinted water poured almost endlessly. His straw spilled the same liquid out as well. The water poured like a waterfall, obscuring his glowing form. A single white feather floated up from the black water below, in front of each of them. As it floated serenely before them, an odd weight began pulling them deeper into the water.

Weepy screamed, sobbing tears that proved useless in doing anything but hurting Moe’s ears, the noise being louder than he could stand. Psycarrot continued to scream, desperately trying to pull himself away without taking his eyes off the deep blue void behind the child. Moe, realizing that it wasn’t night time, and it shouldn’t be so devoid of light, got the distinct feeling they’d angered the Domain of a new god. Their own tried calling for them, but the call wasn’t answered by any of the trio. Moe tried pulling himself closer to the new god, thinking if he broke the body, the Domain would focus on fixing its charge rather than going after them.

Cuphead, nimbly leapt into the air, landing on top of Moe’s head. Moe froze, though he could easily pry the kid off, there was a new sound in the air. He’d heard that sound only in the deserts long ago. The feather nearest Psycarrot finally tapped the panicking god. The moment it touched him, its’ brilliant white turned a filthy mud brown.

One second, Psycarrot was weakly trying to slide away, the next, a massive beast’s maw was snapping shut over him. Crocodilian jaws, far too wide to be natural, tore into Psycarrot’s midsection, Hippo tusks ground down from above, boring into the eldest twin with frightening ease. Weepy’s screaming grew higher in pitch, matched by Psycarrots pained cries. The brilliantly glowing eyes floating in the impossibly black sockets of the skull stared at Moe as the beast dove back under the water. Moe and Weepy went silent, as did everything else. Not even the liquid pouring from the new god made a sound.

“Psycarrot?” Weepy weakly called out after a moment to the empty space where his brother had been. At his side, the feather near him tapped his skin, turning the same filthy brown as Psycarrots’. The boy, still perched on Moe, tsk’ed.

“Gosh, that’s not good.” He said, voice far too light considering the fear pouring from the other two. Thick lions’ claws shot up from the water, tearing into Weepy’s open mouth, claws embedding themselves in his tongue, shredding into his back. He didn’t even have the chance to cry out before they pulled him under. Thick blood clouded the water, and as Moe followed a trail of it, he finally realized that the water wasn’t opaque black, but clear. Lights danced, flickering like candles far into the depths. Below him, a beast easily ten times his size cut through the water. Two bright gold eye lights stared back. Even though the beast was underwater, he could hear its’ jaw crack open, splitting down the middle to show off an impossibly wide maw.

The feather tapped his side.

“Hey, I don’t think this will kill you, but… I get the feeling you’ll wish it had.” The new god, Cuphead, kicked off his perch, landing on the tip of a lion’s tail that rose from the water to catch him. Moe opened and closed his mouth, unable to form a single word. Then, like the other two, the creature seemingly appeared from nowhere. The last thing the god of the Harvest saw were the two sides to the skeletal crocodile jaw snap together, jagged teeth shredding one of his arms. Then, all he saw were the countless worshippers they’d all left to starve.

“If I think about it, I don’t think they wanted to abandon you. I think they wanted to show you they took your lessons to heart, so you wouldn’t have to worry about them as much.” Cuphead’s young voice could barely be heard over the begging. The trio didn’t have time to think about his words, overcome by the growing cries.

====-=====-====-====

“What did you do?!” Cuphead, holding his head tightly with one hand as a headache made his soul pound, groaned.

‘ _We judged them. Our scale gave his judgement, we offered them a chance, they had no thought to fixing their mistakes. Had there been a chance of them having regret, I would have spared them.’_

“Wait so are they dead?”

‘ _No, I am devouring their faults, their sins. When they’ve regained their senses, I will release them. For now, we have their Domain offering aid to us.’_

“Oh, not another one…” Cuphead thumped his head on the dirt. A soft green glow wrapped around his body, startling him. Within a few moments his headache was gone. The glow faded, and he sat up.

“Did…that Domain heal me?”

‘ _We have its’ charges, it wants them to be safe, it is a nurturing sort. It simply asks that we return its’ charges soon.’_

“I just want you to never do that again. That was freaky.” Cuphead brushed the dirt from his clothing, heading back out. While he knew Mugman had been near that shop he spotted earlier, he wasn’t sure if Mugman went up the path or back down the stairs to Cuphead’s right. His Domain simply hummed a response, unable to pick out anything beyond the isle they were on. The other Domain simply didn’t speak to him at all. So, with nothing better to do, he followed the path down the stairs, leaving the empty garden behind.

====-====-====-====

Mugman quickly ascended the stairs, before the urge to check on the god he’d whacked a few times got ahold of him. He hadn’t quite meant to snap like that, but he also didn’t expect to watch the third person he’d ever met die. He decided that the god was probably fine, considering he was a young child, and the blob was a god. Besides, he thought, Cuphead was the one with more upper body strength. Mugman was the better runner.  With that thought in mind, he continued on ahead, eager to find any clue as to the thing that had _temporarily_ killed his brother.

Even if it meant handing his soul over to the Devil, he was returning to the side of the one person that had always been there. He flat out knew he wouldn’t last very long alone. As he continued forward, pausing to listen, he took in the higher vantage point. The isle was still unnaturally silent, the fog was still keeping him from seeing anything beyond the end of the stairs a few feet behind him. Inkwell still felt decidedly unfriendly, but he was here, and he wasn’t leaving without an answer.

Of course, due to his distraction, it was more than easy for two metal hands to pop out of the brush and pull him into the depths of the trees. A rotted leather glove slapped across his mouth, silencing the surprised squeak he’d let out. Without any weapon readily available, he was helpless to fend off the attacker. Not that there was much more than hasty readjusting so he was fully under the trees.

“Are you crazy?” An echoey voice hissed. He tried turning his head, if only to get the disgusting glove away from his mouth. The hand followed, the owner taking his motions as a denial. “Sure as the sky was blue you are! Who wanders out and about where the Lady of Dreams can see you?” Mugman winced, the magic holding his head to his shoulders straining under the force the stranger was putting on his mouth. “You’re lucky I’m here! Why, if you’ve seen the things Goddess Hilda has done you never would have come this way!”

Mugman went slack, his sudden deadweight surprising the man enough to drop the child. Catching himself, Mugman threw himself away from the man, acrobatics finally coming to good use. The stranger didn’t follow, likely because Mugman had simply gone deeper into the tree line. Turning to face the man, he wiped his sleeve across his mouth, trying to get rid of the taste unsuccessfully.

“Why you giving me that look for? I’ll have you know I just saved you!” The metal being whisper shouted, his body creaking with the dramatic toss of his hands into the air.  Mugman took another step away in response. Mac hadn’t attacked him, Mac certainly hadn’t dragged him around like he was some doll to place on the mantle.

“Is it because I haven’t introduced myself? Well tough, I don’t remember my name, I just call myself a Canteen Pilot because what else am I going to say?” The man, Canteen Pilot, griped, throwing his arms into the air once more. Mugman watched him for a few more moments, silently judging just how safe someone like Canteen was.

“Sorry, I haven’t had a welcoming time here. Who are you talking about?”

“You don’t _know?!_ Kid you live under a rock?”

“No, but I was raised by a terrible caretaker. Did you know dogs can’t retract their claws?”

“What….”

“If you have a deck of cards I could probably beat you at blackjack faster than you could say the alphabet.”

“Oh…”

“There’s a whale whose veins are so large you could crawl through them, have you ever seen a whale?”

“Wow. Okay, stop. Listen close. That person in that observatory is _the_ Goddess of the stars. Her Domain is dreams. She was great with passing wishes over to her brother for him to grant, but things change. I don’t know what set her off, but things got bad, real bad. The last time I tried talking to her she—“ He leapt across the short distance between him and Mugman, tackling the smaller body into the ground. Above them, the sound of an engine roared by.

“Don’t let her catch you.” Canteen snapped, eyes just about bulging out of his sockets as he ignored the small hands clawing at his own. “She’ll put in a sleep you’ll never… wake…” The man crashed to the floor barely missing Mugman’s shoulder as he flopped over. Mugman scrambled away, right into the legs of another person.

“Well now isn’t this something swell?” Something fell into his soul liquid, causing his eyelids to grow heavy within seconds. He tried fighting off the sleep, head lolling to one side. “Go ahead, when you’re with me, sleep is about as blissful as floating on the clouds.” Cold fingers brushed his handle, and before he knew it, his eyes were closing fully. He felt a solid pair of hands pick him up off the ground, cradling him in his last few seconds of consciousness. Then he felt nothing, taken by whatever had affected him into the world of dreams.

====-====-====-====

He was back in his home, staring at the blazing fireplace. Confused, because he _knew_ he wasn’t back home, he looked around. The chair Elder Kettle normally sat in was occupied by the God, which wasn’t a common sight. His brother was also nowhere to be seen, which was uncommon as well.

“What do we have here? A little bluebird raised by that hoity toity kettle of air.” He turned on his heel, surprise overcoming his confusion. There was a woman, skin pink, hair chestnut brown, and a rather regal looking outfit draped over her thin figure. She was staring at the dream version of Elder Kettle, a cold smile on her face that thawed when she got a look at him.

“You are just the tiniest thing I’ve seen in a while! And look,” She gestured to their surroundings, “not a single dream of flying around in the sky like you have any right. How wonderful that you’re the first new blood on the islands.” She stood, her outfit sparkling delicately in the light of the fire. He flinched, moving away from her until the table caught his thigh. She patiently waited for him to realize she wasn’t going any closer to him, delight on her angular features.

“My name is Hilda Berg, unlike Goopy, I don’t mind you calling me Miss. Hilda or what have you. After all, what sort of dream maker would I be if I forced my _formerly_ wonderful worshippers to treat me so uptight?” She carefully moved around, taking in new surroundings. “He couldn’t even change things,” She hummed, nails biting into her arm, “I’d ruin him if I could. But I’m also not like Cagney, I don’t hold grudges on those that had nothing to do with the sins of others.” She knelt down before Mugman, gazing at him like one would an interesting exhibit at a museum.

“Mugman, Miss. Hilda, my name is Mugman. It’s certainly interesting to meet you.” Mugman didn’t move any closer, letting her poke at his far smaller hands and his straw. As long as she didn’t try smashing him into pieces, he didn’t care. She indeed didn’t, keeping her examination feather-light.

“It’s been quite a while. Why, the last time I saw a mortal I was watching their ugly flying contraption burst into flame and sear their flesh to their seats.” She mused, tugging on his sleeve. He winced. “Tell me, do they…fly? Those like you. Do mortals still disobey me?” Mugman stared at her like one would stare at a horse tap dancing on a lake wielding a sword and chanting a song backwards.

“I… he didn’t let us wander too far. I don’t know about much, sorry.” She stared at him silently, examining his expression carefully. Finally, satisfied, she leaned back. “Well I suppose it would be odd for him to let new charges wander. He never was the same after his sibling left. There’s a lighthouse on this isle, that was where Elder Kettle’s sibling lived. Or so he told us. Never met them in person. Why he’d keep you specifically, I’ve no idea. But, thank you anyway I suppose.”

“If you wanted to know the circumference of something I could tell you that.” Mugman tried weakly, wondering if his lack of knowledge was finally going to get him killed.

“Oh…Oh dear. No, I simply want to do what I used to do, and give a sweet dream! Of course, had you been one of those _filthy **liars**_ I’d have given you a nightmare so bad you’d wish you’d stayed near Goopy. I instead see a rather adorable looking toy train!” By the fire, where he used to sit, was indeed a train. As a little child, Elder Kettle had taken him and his brother out to see the locomotive that rumbled by every few months. Close enough to the house that Elder Kettle could walk them there, but not close enough to be heard over the waves. Mugman had instantly fallen in love with the whistle the train let out as it passed. He’d loved how the wheels turned, and it had been the first toy he’d ever requested specifically.

Cuphead had wanted a big sailing ship, like the one they’d seen in the sailing books. The boat sat by his train, polished wood reflecting the fire dancing away. A deep pang of sorrow ripped across his soul at the sight of the little ship. He bit back the sob building up in his chest, refusing to let Hilda Berg see anything she might be able to use. Then he remembered just why he was here. He perked up, startling her as he grabbed her hand in his own, tugging her towards the hall where Elder Kettle’s room was. Behind him, the figure of Elder Kettle rot away, fading off into a grey nothingness.

====-====-====-====

Hilda Berg let the boy pull her along, finding the action endearing more than anything. She did so love the younger crowd; their dreams were always the easiest to pick into. Back in her heyday, she and her brother had granted wish after wish, scared away nightmares with ease. Now, she barely remembered how to keep a dreamscape complete. The boys’ mind was an odd one. Though she had tried reaching as deeply as she could go, hoping to force him to stay asleep longer, she was unable too. Something in the soft grey depths of his soul had reacted to her prodding.

He opened the door, and she examined the new space, letting her access to his memories pull the room into proper form. He led her to a specific book, eagerly flipping it open, babbling something about a potion. She wasn’t surprised, considering his caretaker was Elder Kettle. The man was the reason those mages had even known how to set up a strong enough barrier in the first place. Sure, she could tear apart his mind, force him into nightmare after nightmare until he broke under the stress, but she didn’t. He was young, oh so young, and sweet. He practically radiated a soft warmth that made her want to put out her best effort, show him what she could really do.

He paused mid word, staring at the blank page in confusion.

“That… Why is it blank?” He asked, peering up at her, his height forcing him to look up unless he wanted to stare at her upper thigh. Her face scrunched in, it seemed like she’d have to pull him out of sleep if she wanted to keep him happy. So, before he could question her even further, she dipped her finger into his soul liquid, and forced him awake.

====-====-====-====

Mugman shot up from where he rested on a bench. The same grey light shone through the window next to him, indicating he hadn’t been asleep for more than an hour at most. The goddess floated down until she was settled a foot from the floor, still above him, but not uncomfortably so. He scrambled up, nearly falling back down after the blanket tossed over him caught between his leg and his shoulder. She snickered at him, once again patiently waiting for him to pull out the same book he had in his dream. He flipped it open straight to the marked page, lifting it so she could get a good look.

She gave it a cursory glance, already knowing she wouldn’t know anything about whatever he was trying to show her. Still, his dreams were such a breath of fresh air, and she’d felt a powerful desire somewhere in his soul, tucked just out of her reach. Which was odd, as it wasn’t often that a mortal hadn’t wanted her to see what they wanted most at the time.

Mugman, realizing she wasn’t as focused as he hoped, let his gaze wander, taking in the building he was now in. It looked like it was that observatory thing mentioned earlier.  There was a massive telescope, caked in dust but no rust. The entire building was oddly dusty, as if someone hadn’t cared about keeping everything pristine. The fog he could see told him all he needed to know about anyone who like using a big telescope to see the stars. Then as his eyes drifted across an odd lump in the corner, she cleared her throat. He closed the book, aware she wouldn’t have what he needed.

“Thank you for your time Miss. Hilda, but I really must be going if you don’t know what the cure for this is.”

“But do you?” She asked innocently, the odd lump shifted, an eerie metallic clang from its direction making him jolt. Then he caught sight of the multitude of broken plane figurines strewn about.

“Um, yes, it’s quite important I don’t…” Mugman drifted off, soul going cold as the odd lump revealed itself to be a badly mangled Canteen Pilot. The man heaved himself up, leaning heavily on the leg not bent irreparably. She tapped his chin, drawing his focus back.

“Sleepwalkers, what can you do with them?” She shrugged lightly, keeping his eyes locked on hers. “I don’t think you quite understand. I’m the sister of Djimmi the Great, God of Wishes. Child if you’ve any need of something, all you’ve got to do…” She paused, letting one finger tap his nose a few times rhythmically. “Is dream it, and I’d be happy to put in a good word.” Mugman’s lips twisted into a nervous smile.

Suddenly, he gasped, gesturing behind her.

“The telescope!” He cried out. She jolted around, ready to defend her most prized possession. There was the sound of shattering glass, a blanket drifted down to cover her face before she could turn, and then, nothing. She tore the blanket off to discover the child was flat out gone, the window was shattered. Her face twisted into a snarl, she turned to yell at the reason for him escaping, only to curse as the broken worshipper toppled over onto her legs, sending her to the floor. She’d be stuck trying to move the useless thing for a good half hour. Mugman, however, would be long gone.

===-====-====-====

Mugman tore down nearby stairs, sprinting as fast as his legs could carry him. He didn’t know how strong gods were, and in the event that she got the blanket off fast enough—or just tore it off—he wanted to be as far away as possible. The fog swirled around him, not hindering him but making his mad dash harder to navigate. He followed the path down, across another bridge, then down further until a river barge caught his eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> World building is so dang fun. So is character building! Before anyone asks, again, no, the root pack ain't dead. They're just....indisposed at the moment is all. Are those memories he's going through? Or something else.  
> Elder Kettle, raising his kids with stupid, mostly useless information since they were jabbing him in the eye with their tiny baby feet! This fact will pop up more often because seriously, he didn't raise them well. A far cry from my other stories that's for sure. Why, I bet if mage elder were here to see the mistake that god Elder is he'd be breakin out the arcane book and showing his own children how to skin a god.


	6. Roundtable Rivals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuing forward, and reaching the end of Isle one, at least, for one brother.

Cuphead stared up at the stained white tatters of what was once a flag, high atop the rusted mast. The boat before him creaked loud enough he was surprised he hadn’t been able to hear it before. He debated boarding it, seeing as his brother was on Isle Three, there was no reason for him to check this rusted out heap. Still, he pondered, if he just powered through to get to Mugman, found him before anything happened to him, they’d have to come back this way for their boats. Elder Kettle had also said leaving for him was impossible.

He didn’t doubt that if he tried leaving right now, Inkwell would force him back. How it would, he didn’t want to know.  Not only that, he thought as a devious smile curled his lips, if he fixed the gods, Mugman would probably faint from the shock. Cuphead rarely cared to do much for people that had bad things coming to them due to their own actions. These gods were practically the dictionary definition of ‘you had it coming’ to him. It might even make Mugman feel better, but the most vital thing, the most important reason for why his feet started carrying him to the gangplank, was far less virtuous.

These gods might owe him for helping them, which meant he’d have a chance of using them to avoid battles he didn’t think he could win. His Domain scoffed at the idea of a battle it couldn’t beat, then it remembered how young and inexperienced its charge was, and urged him onto the boat faster. Carving away at the gods in its’ belly, eager to return them to how they’d first been before their own anger ruined them.

====-====-=====-=====

The boat wasn’t anything to admire. It _might_ have been in the past, but over one hundred years of no care would ruin any shine or polish. The deck, even though it was thin, giving most room to the center bridge area, was rotted to the point that he swore he could see water lapping at gaping holes in the hull. Unsure as to whether this was a good idea, because he didn’t even know if the thing could support him long enough for him to see if anyone was even inside.

Right about the time he was thinking of leaving, the ship’s central door creaked open, as if inviting him in.

“How…uh…How immortal are we?”

‘ _If anyone harms you I will eat them.’_

“That doesn’t inspire confidence. That does the opposite, you’re terrible.”

‘ _You have died once before, maybe if you die enough death will befriend you.’_

“I hope those jerks give you indigestion.”

‘ _Quick, tell me what a turnip is.’_

Cuphead didn’t respond, grumbling about snide Domains as he shoved the door open. Later on he’d realize that his Domain had teased him to ease his fears. Currently though, he was just annoyed.

The interior was even worse. The smell of iron was thick enough he contemplated waving his hand in front of his face to see if he could wipe it out of the air. His hand pressed against one of the walls, wondering what kind of wallpaper would turn so chunky. Then he realized the thing he was poking was what was left of a skull smashed into the wall. He yanked his hand back, stumbling away until his handle squished against the wall behind him. He shuddered, stopped breathing entirely, and kept moving forward. He wouldn’t need to suck in a breath for a good hour or so, a few times he’d used that to startle his brother while they played in the water under the rare watchful eye of their caretaker.

The new god was never _happier_ to stop inhaling, but now that he knew the iron was likely a mix of rust and blood, he wasn’t letting that stuff into his soul liquid if he could help it. Down the stairs, stepping over pieces of skeletons or odd bug shells. The bug shells were the worst, and yet, also the best. Considering Mugman had a great fear of the creepy crawlies, the exoskeletons reminded him of days when he’d drop a cockroach into Mugman’s straw just to watch Mugman shriek and flail. Sure, Mugman would follow that prank up with one of his own, but the point stood.

He continued on, wincing every time a step creaked or a floorboard groaned under his weight. He followed the poorly lit hall, listening to the building buzzing noise behind the door at the end of the hall. The lights, broken bulbs that barely cast a glow flickered wildly, giving just enough light to see, but warping the shadows all the same. Reminding him of his dislike of the dark.

The odd buzzing grew louder, but, Cuphead paused, it seemed like it was now surrounding him. He reached for his brother’s hand, something he always did when nervous, a habit he hadn’t needed to break until now. Realizing what he was doing, he tightened his hand into a fist, which was the only thing that kept the tar black fingers from grabbing his own. He reared back, twisting to the side so he could see just what was after him. It was a massive fly, with half of its’ skull caved in and two missing arms.

He didn’t quite remember how the fly went from being next to him to being embedded in the already weak walls, but he didn’t want to know. Well, he did, but his Domain was equally baffled at the violent response. Choosing to just move on quickly before it regained its senses—not that it would considering it was definitely dead now—the young deity ran the rest of the way down the hall. Throwing open the door proved to be the worst thing he’d done yet.

====-====-====-====

Two very obvious gods were arguing, thumping one another on the chest in a show of aggression. All around them flies in varying states buzzed loud enough to drown out the exact words that were being said. The room itself was in such a rotted state Cuphead didn’t think he’d ever be able to guess the color of the floor originally. Corpses of flies long dead wasted away in piles on the stands, being devoured by the living ones like the piles were a casual snack bar. He was glad he didn’t have a gag reflex, he was even more glad he’d stopped breathing a while ago. Now, his next goal was to avoid opening his mouth.

‘ _Oh.’_

“Gross.” Cuphead muttered under his breath, refusing to open his mouth even to snark. A fly dressed like a waiter buzzed by, pausing to stare at him. As if all were connected, the flies in the stands, eating at the tables, and wandering about, did the same. The buzzing stopped.

‘ _Whatever happens, try to not antagonize them. I can only cleanse one domain at a time.’_

‘You couldn’t have said that earlier?!’

_‘I thought I could work faster.’_

“Ey look! It’s another one!” A heavily accented voice shouted despite it being almost entirely silent on the ship.  Cuphead returned his attention to the two gods in the center of the ship, standing in what looked like a painted circle. His memory dredged up two sources for who the two facing him were. Ribby and Croaks, Gods of Victory.

“Wells now I guess that little tyke wasn’t yappin’ for nothin’!” The taller one nudged his shorter brother, and the two shot Cuphead a sleazy grin.

“What, might we ask, brings a newbie such as yourself ‘ere?” The shorter one stomped his foot onto the floor. Cuphead _might_ have laughed at the funny slapping noise it made, but he was too busy watching water fill the side of the ship behind the brothers, tilting the barge until metal shrieked and Cuphead began sliding towards them. He managed to grab onto a table, bolted to the floor as it was, before he collided with the amphibian siblings. The water receded, and with it, the ship rose back upright, leveling out with another agonizing groan.

“You’ve met the reason I’m here apparently!” Cuphead didn’t let go of the table, but he was careful to look less nervous than he was. He didn’t know what his Domain meant by ‘not antagonize’. If that meant he was a sitting duck until the harvest gods were spat back out, he wasn’t exactly willing to just give the two in front of him a punching bag. Even without the feather once more burning on his back, he _knew_ these two were just as corrupted as the day they’d been locked on Inkwell.

“Yeah, we sure did, why…We even offered him a _chair_.” Croaks, if his memory served him, twisted a char that sat right on the edge of the ring around, shards of porcelain stood out on the stained brown fabric like a beacon. Both Cuphead and Cuphead’s Domain paused. Pure gold irises inspected the gods before him, taking them in under a new light.

Within Croaks, Cuphead saw numerous battles between the two brothers. That wasn’t odd, the book said that was how they determined who to give a boon of victory too. It was also how they helped choose who to give lessons too first. They fought using the skills of the warriors that called them. Until, they didn’t. Instead, Cuphead watched as the fair fights twisted until the battle favored who gave the brothers the better offering. No longer interested in objective fairness or nice pick-me-ups for nervous fighters.

Within Ribby he watched them begin turning on those who gave ‘paltry’ offerings. Even more, he watched them _crush_ the fighter they decided should lose when that fighter won instead. He watched as they started seeing fewer and fewer fighters, watched as people ran from the two, avoiding their known hangouts. Some even stopped battles the moment the two showed up, no longer seeing it as an honor. From Ribby’s perspective, he saw his brother, paler than he’d ever seen, appear from the same door he’d been near.

From Croak’s perspective, he saw his brother slammed into that same chair hard enough a sharp crack cut through the silence of then, and of now. The table in his grip shattered, splintering apart. Mugman, from Ribby’s perspective, clutched the bag to his front like a shield, shivering under the barbarous expression on Croak’s face. Returning from whatever that was, he released his grip on the shattered remains of the table.

“Looks like a bout is brewing.” The brothers said in unison.

‘ _For our next trick, that game you played as children with him,’_ Many nights spent listening to the radio go on about exciting adventures. Elder Kettle showing them a toy gun one of the further off nations had. They hadn’t much cared for the thing, finding it too annoying to try running around with a prop in their hands. So, they improvised.

“I’ll show you a real high-class bout, you can bet on it.” Cuphead raised his hand up, pointer finger extended with the rest of his fingers curled in. The world grew hazy once more, exactly as it had done before his Domain did its thing. This time it was less hazy, giving him the hint that he was the one mostly in control. The feather on his back flared a vivid gold, as did the tip of his finger. He pointed at the one he was most upset at, Croaks, and “Bang.”

The last thing he expected was to watch a magic bullet fire off from the tip of his finger, a snap sound instead of a bang answering his own taunting remark. Croaks stumbled back, reaching for the seared flesh on his abdomen. The second he touched the wound, the lingering glow of gold turned a deep red. Croaks was about to remark about how weak the hit was, then his next poke sent him to the floor in unmitigated agony. He shrieked, clawing at his abdomen as if trying to get the thing making him feel like he was being hit by Phantom Express out.

Ribby, threw himself across the room at Cuphead, livid that someone attacked his brother. Cuphead ducked under the swing, gave Ribby a cheeky smile, then gave him a chair to the face. Ribby’s head snapped to the side, he stumbled away from the boy, taking in the new threat.

“That tadpole wasn’t nearly as strong as you.” Ribby rubbed his jaw, trying to think through the current situation. His brother was choking on blood behind him, the boy in front of him was leaning on the chair, tapping its back cushion with an illuminated hand. Before, they’d messed with that kid up, he was an easy target. Far easier than the flies they fought or a few of the other gods they managed to talk into a scuffle. He glared at the new god, antsy to make the kid fix whatever he’d done to his brother. But this one wasn’t like his far weaker sibling, this one was dangerous. He knew how Cagney fought, he didn’t know how the kid daring him to come at him again fought. He couldn’t even get a read on him.

There was an odd void where any information about his fighting style should have come up. Of course, a moment later the boat rocked to the side, almost tipping over. Ribby used the motion of the boat to his advantage, swinging his fist out, catching the boy on the side. Cuphead stumbled, barely able to use the chair as a shield enough to keep from breaking. The boat rocked again, Croaks cried out for his brother as he slid across the floor, bruised and battered as if he’d gone through a battle of the ages. Ribby was more interested in destroying the intruder.

He didn’t get the chance to, a glove he’d not seen in over two centuries just about broke his jaw. He flew back, crashing into the stands. Cuphead just arched an eyebrow, wondering if he should leave the brothers in a heap for now or…

“Ha! It’s been so long! Don’t you worry kid, I’m…oh… Oh you aren’t…” A blob landed next to him, spraying water everywhere. Cuphead, now thoroughly soaked, couldn’t bring it in himself to be annoyed. “Well this is a bit embarrassing. I’m Goopy Le Grande, River Deity. You?”

“Cuphead, I don’t know how to describe what my Domain is…sorry?”

“Oh, a newbie! That’s great! Kid, I got me a bit of a score to settle with these fellas. See, a kid lookin’ like you ran by, got me knocked real good and I owe that tyke. I can’t recall the last time I actually did what my Domain created me for! He ran off a while ago, but I _just_ now found my old glove, so you scamper off okay? Let Le Grande take care of _fixin their attitudinal problem._ ” With that, and with a not so gentle bap towards the door, Goopy leapt at Ribby, ignoring the already downed Croaks.

“Really Grande? You pickin’ fights for tadpoles now?!”

“Really Ribs? When was the last time you didn’t pick fights you knew you’d win?” Goopy snapped back, listening as the small child behind him ran for the door. Croaks continued crying for Ribby, Ribby, pride too injured to care, ignored it.

“Wha’? The splash _god_ is goin’ t’ out box me? Even without Croaks I could knock you back to your pond!”

“Ribby, paint me a picture. Where are we?” The door to the exit closed behind the boy, Goopy inhaled, listening to the creaks of the child running through the ship.

“A boat.”

“What did you say I was god of again?”

“Rivers, but—” The boat rocked, water far below sloshed in the hold. Goopy’s smile could best be described as shark-toothed. In his mind, he could see a reflection of the red child sprinting across the gangplank. The moment he was off the boat, it became cannon fodder. Goopy wasn’t his sister. He didn’t have incredible control over the vast ocean, but he didn’t really mind. Well, he did, because her magic was far flashier, and he _loved_ flashy. Ribby nervously glanced down one of the holes in his ship. Goopy knew exactly what the battle god was thinking. Sure, Ribby and Croaks could manipulate how their boat sat in the water, but ultimately, it was still a boat.

“Good news Ribby, you don’t gotta kick someone while they’re down to see who’s going to win this fight.”

“Oh.”

====-====-====-=====

Cuphead, running as fast as he could towards a bridge, heard a head-splitting shriek, turned, and watched the boat he’d been on soar through the sky. He thought he could hear faint screaming coming from it, but really he was more interested in the dozens of raining fly corpses falling from the thing. He ducked under the tree line nearest to him, watching as the bodies smacked onto the ground, turning to dust seconds later. He would find it interesting if he hadn’t also noticed how the fog was lighter, less dense. Not only that, but the rivers were audible. He could hear the water bubbling over the rocks below. When he’d first gotten to the Isles, everything was dead silent. Now, there was sound, a hint of life.

He rocked back on his feet, humming in thought. Right up until Goopy reappeared, looking as happy as a blob god could.

“I think that settles the debt, at least, it might, and even if it doesn’t I don’t think I care. I feel good.” Goopy sucked in a great amount of air, letting out in what had to be the most relieved sigh Cuphead had ever heard in his life. “Anyway, last I checked, before I had to go glove hunting, that brother of yours went past Hilda’s place. Why, I went lookin’ for my glove because I saw him goin’ towards those boxer-brains. You might try asking her about where he’s been. He certainly got through my thick head, might have gotten to her too!” Goopy thrust his thumb in the direction of the path to the left. He brushed off a bit of bug corpse.

Cuphead nodded, it was about as good as he was going to get in terms of information anyway.

“Oh but don’t you worry none about those two twins, I’ve got them handled, though I think you did a number on Croaks anyway. He started screaming ‘sorry’ an awful lot before I sent them to their new place on the other side of this hunk of rock.” Cuphead nodded, hesitantly thanking the odd deity, wondering just what Mugman had done to slap the sense into a god. So he started jogging in the direction of Hilda Berg, hoping she’d be nicer than the twin brothers.

====-====-====-====

Mugman examined the barge, noting that despite clearly being a river-boat, it was almost positioned like the captain had been trying to hide it, docking it away from the rivers Mugman knew would be wide enough to allow it through. He nervously shifted from left to right, debating just how wise it was to board a rust heap. Eventually, he figured if he didn’t at least try, and he somehow made it to the third isle only to be told those in this boat knew what he was looking for, he’d kick himself.

With that in mind, he carefully headed up the gangplank, holding the strap of his bag in both hands tightly, he peeked around the deck. Noting how dilapidated it, as well as so many other things, were. He wondered just why deities would leave their homes to rot to this degree. He didn’t think he could ever let his own home rot like this. But then, he wasn’t even a teen yet, so he supposed he didn’t quite know just what he’d do.

Then his foot nearly punched a hole in the floor. He decided that even if he didn’t quite know future him, future him would sooner die than ever let whatever he lived in fall to such a sorry state. He carefully shifted his way over to the door, adamantly not looking down where he knew he’d see either the inner hull or the coastal sand.

Squeaking the door open, he pressed in the second the gap was wide enough to fit his slender body. The inside made him wince. His arms tightly dug into his sides as he did everything in his power to _not_ touch the oddly stained walls. He swore, as he made his way down, he could see pieces of skull embedded in the wallpaper. When he reached the stairs, was when he truly debated going any further.

Surely no one would live on a ship with such a massive infestation of crunchy bugs. He tapped a single boot down onto the first stair, felt and heard an all to familiar crunch, and was _mysteriously_ back at the door leading outside. Only, it wasn’t opening, he didn’t even remember closing it if he thought about it. He turned, unwilling to continue, but there was a severed bug head on the door handle, and he wasn’t about to touch that.

On the stairwell, was a fly, a giant fly. Theoretically, he knew that, much like himself, there were other species, such as the one before him. But all he could really think was to slowly pull the book out of his bag, edge closer, and snap out, smushing the already half rotted zombie bug into the wall. The thick squishing noise only made his actions worse, but justified all the same. He wiped the book and his gloves off on a piece of clean wall, his coloration a bit green now.

Going down the stairs once more, he avoided the bodies as much as possible without touching the disgusting wall. Halfway down the hall was about the time he realized he’d stopped breathing all together. He couldn’t find it in himself to start back up. The filthy, cracked carpet released a small cloud with his every step. The lights, casting a weak yellow glow, did nothing to ease his nerves. Almost by habit, he reached out, sure he’d feel his brother’s questing hand grab hold of his. Before his arm could move much further than a few inches from his side, it stopped. There was no Cuphead, scared of the dark and seeking comfort beside him.

It wouldn’t always be like that though. In fact, now Mugman was thinking of whether the afterlife was dark or not. Face pale, small hands shaking just the slightest, he reached the door at the end of the hall. He pushed open the door, hoping the buzzing noise was from the lights rather than the possible bugs in the room.

It was bugs.

Mugman felt a part of himself die a little.

The whole arena like place was almost impossibly large, it certainly hadn’t looked this big when he’d been outside staring up at that rusted mast. But within the rusted walls, was a fighting ring. Sprawling stands, bending or broken in their centers, lined the sides of the area. Full up of both living and dead. Thick mildew, pungent on his tongue had him realize he was staring at everything in open-mouthed horror. He let his gaze wander to the center of the whole room, where two frog types stared back.

He felt four hands press onto his back, shoving him into the room, nearly shoving him into a table. He caught himself on it, only getting a brief glimpse of the fly that had pushed him before the door was closed. He heard whispers fill the crowd, the buzzing from before going silent as the flies ceased all movement. Turning to face the pair in the center circle, he gave a hesitant wave, they laughed.

“Look at that! First mortal we see in a while that ain’t food, an’ it’s a little teacup!” The taller one exclaimed, throwing one gloved hand out toward Mugman. Mugman remained alert, unsure of just how to handle the current state of affairs.

“Don’ be shy little fella! Come on, we ain’t gonna hurt you none!” If Mugman was drunk, drugged, half awake, running on two minutes of sleep in twenty-four hours, and five years old, he still wouldn’t have fallen for that. Not with the way it was said. He continued staring at them, inching closer only when a fly dressed as a waiter descended from above, ushering him forward. The duo waited until he was close enough that his boots brushed the line drawn on the floor. The only clean place on the entire barge. Then, they moved. One, the stout one moved to pull up a chair, scraping it along the floor as he did so.

“What brings you here?” The frog asked, keeping Mugman’s attention as the fly moved away. The taller brother prowled around, as if examining the child for weaknesses.

“I’m… Looking for something.” He answered, unsure of just how much to say. The stout frog nodded sagely, leaving the chair in its’ new position behind Mugman, strolling with a casual air to stand in front of the child once more.

“Lookin’ for a fight, perhaps? Don’ think we don’ see you don’ even recognize us, we do. Names Ribby, my brother is Croaks.” Croaks appeared on Mugman’s left popping up seemingly out of nowhere. He shoved the far smaller child back, using a hearty amount of strength to do so. Mugman crashed back into the chair, biting back a cry of pain as his handle’s new fracture gave the seat a new dusting of pure white porcelain. He held his bag before him, mind racing with just how he was going to get out of this. He was wrong, there was nothing on this barge for him. Neither of these two looked like they knew anything about potions.

“No sir…or… gods? Um, I’m just looking for something to help my brother. It’s—“ Mugman squeaked as the chair was shoved down, sent crashing to the floor with him on it so Croaks and Ribby could loom over him. They gave him twin sneers.

“Kinda brother just wanders off? What? Is your baby bro sick or something? Shouldn’t you be at his side?”

“I—”

“Why, I think I’d die if I left my dearest brother here.” Ribby pat Croaks on the side, gloved hand thumping the taller one enough to make Croaks snort.

“Awful terrible of you to just wander in to someone else’s abode. Even worse t’ just stroll in wit’ not a single offering to us. We’re gods of victory y’ know! Why, we could easily be the reason you fail to save your—” Ribby broke off when Mugman began to sniffle. He wondered just how old the child in front of him was.

“I’m on some horribly foggy wasteland where mortal hopes go to die. I’m alone for the first time in my life, and I had to watch some stranger who’d helped me get carroted to death. And now I’m getting yelled at by some rude folks on a boat that frankly should be six leagues under!” Mugman moaned, throwing his hands over his eyes, hiding the tears. The two brothers paused, glancing at one another.

“Uh… that would be us… kid.”

“We’re the ones…uh keeping… are… you crying?”

“How! How in the world are you keeping this thing afloat!?” Mugman threw his hands into the air.

“We.. control what our ship does. Clip Joint Calamity obeys us no matter her state. She won’t sink even if we were swimming right now. Would… just watch.” Ribby and Croaks stepped away and turned to face the other end of the barge. They pointed at the end, turning to glance at the young face peering back. The boy sniffled, scrubbing at his cheeks, wiping away the frustrated tears. They admired that little bit of fight in him, it was the only reason they hadn’t killed him quite yet.

As the boat began to tip, water filling up the end the duo pointed at, they failed to notice the child making a hasty retreat to the door, fighting the angle of the barge. The two brothers loudly boasted about the other things they could do, over the loud buzzing of the audience that had been forced to move lest the shifting pile of corpses topple onto them.

Croaks turned to see how the kid was admiring their power. For a few seconds, he just stared at the empty seat, amazed that the kid had tricked the two of them. Then he was getting punched in the side by Ribby. The boat shifted once more, returning to its’ default state as the brothers lost focus on it. The brothers began to argue, blaming the other for losing their next fight.

====-====-====-====

Mugman didn’t dash wildly through the Isle this time. No, this time he only ran until he knew they’d have to have amazing vision to see him through the fog. He cut back on his speed until he was once more moving through the fog at a stealthier pace. As he made his way to the left, not going down the path he’d originally come from, he spotted something shiny in the trees. Looking up, trying to pick out what was in the vines, wrapped thick around the trees, he squinted. Had Cuphead been there, the brother in red would have just climbed up the tree like a squirrel drunk on sugar. Mugman, terrible at climbing much of anything, just went up to his tiptoes to get closer look.

The strange bit of brown he’d focused the most on, as it was next to the shiny thing, twitched.

The wire thin hand, because that’s what it was, reached out for him, a muffled moan from the vines barely registered. He wondered if at some point the horrors Inkwell just kept lobbing at him would stop having an effect on him. Right now, as he watched a living person wrapped entirely up in vines, dangled high above the ground, blindly reached for the child below. The black pit where an eye was supposed to be on the silver face just made him beat a hasty retreat. He couldn’t climb, he couldn’t reach, and the last living thing he’d interacted with that wasn’t a god, was dead. He decided that person was probably better off up there.

He’d find a way to help Cuphead, come back, and see about fixing that poor fellows’ plight. For now, he was torn between going down stairs and going to the left. He’d gone down stairs recently, or, up them, they’d led him to Hilda Berg and her creepy world of dreams. He turned left, feet crunching the lifeless dirt with every step.

====-====-====-====

He smelled flowers.

He smelled a bunch of flowers of all types, filling the dense air with a heady sweetness. Intrigued, wondering if perhaps this would be the first deity he ran into that was no longer corrupted. Dots of color began to appear, covering the ground with a burst of life the Isle sorely needed. For a moment, he tried to imagine this place bathed in the sun, the groups of reds and blues and purples would shine so beautifully in the light.

He wished he’d been there to see it, or that he’d be around to see these isles back to their former glory. He thought they’d be gorgeous, full of cheerful life, instead of dark, dreary, decayed…

He stepped into the flower patch, carefully avoiding crushing any flowers. With each cautious step, leaves and grass rustled around him. He paused to admire a particularly bright blue flower patch. The tiny garden they had back home was nothing compared to this. Then, there was a rustling that didn’t come from his movement. He turned quickly, deciding to get it over with. He certainly didn’t expect a cheerful face to greet him.

He reflexively stepped away, then remembered he was surrounded by all sorts of delicate flowers, looked down, and let out a whine at the sight of crushed asters. He bent down, ignoring the person for now, apologizing profusely to the little plants, trying to carefully brush the dirt off their bruised petals. The far larger flower smiled in amusement, lifting a hand easily as long as Mugman was tall to tap a lone finger on the damaged plants. A soft burst of green later, and the plants were fixed up, perfectly healthy once more. Mugman gave the god, because what else was he, a doleful pout.

“Boy, that kinda thing would have been helpful when my daylilies started dying.” He stood, being careful of where his feet were. Even if he knew the god could repair them, he thought it rude to just stomp about in someone else’s garden. The flower laughed a sweet laugh, leaning on his elbow so he didn’t have to hover as he’d been doing.

“I’m sure it would. My patch of daylilies is over there though, these are a different type, but I’m sure you knew that.” Mugman turned so the blue flowers he’d been admiring were in his sight once more.

“These?” He asked, almost bashfully, thus far, this deity wasn’t giving off any eerie vibes. He didn’t get the sense he was about to die at all, considering the events throughout the day, it was nice.

“Bellflower.” Mugman nodded, watching the carnation who wasn’t a scarecrow as it turned out pluck a small stem full of the lovely flower. Cagney offered it up to Mugman, who took it with all the excitement of a child getting their first gift. The smell of the garden intensified. Mugman, blinking rapidly to clear his vision as a memory surfaced from under his distracted thoughts.

“Oh, pardon me Mr. Carnation…or… God of Nature?”

“Just Cagney is fine.” Cagney replied easily, amusement clear as day on his bright yellow face.

“Mr. Cagney, would you happen to know what any of these are? I’m trying to find a cure for this potion here.” Mugman held out the book, page with the potion on display. Cagney, endeared by the politeness, dutifully leaned closer. His amusement died, replaced with a confused gaze.

“Bellflower, where did you get a book like this?”

“My caretaker had it…my brother drank it, and I need to know if there’s any way to fix what it did to him.” Cagney tilted his head, brows furrowing more and more.

“Well, you say he drank it and something happened to him? Interesting…” Cagney’s fingers tapped the ground rhythmically as he pondered the new information. “I can certainly tell you a couple of these flowers used are for revival, but I have no clue what the animal related ingredients are for.” He shifted, ground parting to allow his wide stem to easily move through until he was loosely half circled around the boy.

Something in Mugman _shifted_ , perking up at the new action. He figured it was just his intuition, but why it would be nervous around someone like Cagney, he had no idea. He didn’t think this deity would hurt him. In fact, he almost wondered if Cagney was even still corrupted.

“I tell you what, why don’t you follow me, and I can point out potential flowers to mix for a cure.” Cagney beckoned the child to direct his attention to a couple of petunia’s. Mugman followed, stepping around a few of the flowers to Cagney’s greater amusement. He continued leading the child around, pointing out plants and what parts were most often used for potion purposes. Slowly, carefully, he began speaking less of the potion ingredients and more about the meanings behind the flowers.

“You said you had a garden? Why, I’d love to hear what you grew in it. I can’t help it really, God of Nature and all that.”

“It’s fine! I’ve been working on it for a few years now, since there’s not a lot else I can do at home. I’ve got…” Cagney followed the boy around this time, trying to imagine the way the little one had set up the small little burst of color behind the house. “And the hellebore, though I didn’t plant those… hmm… I… I think,” Mugman paused, trying to recall just who planted the brightly colored flowers he stood beside.

“Would you like a forget-me-not to jog your memory?” Cagney teased, offering up the small flower to the Bellflower pondering away. “I don’t think it’s important _who_ planted it. It’s much more important to see just how much you care for these little things. Do tell me, have you tried growing any fruits or trees?”

“Oh yes! We have a cherry tree, though we don’t eat from it, Elder…” Once again, the name couldn’t come to him, not the full one at least. Mugman frowned, his mind sluggishly coming to understand that it shouldn’t be such a challenge to remember the names of those he was raised by and beside. Then he spotted vivid red dahlia’s, and he snapped his fingers together, startling Cagney.

“Cuphead! Goodness how could I forget! I’m terribly sorry Mr. Cagney, but I’ve got to continue on!” Mugman started to hop through the flowers, nimbly dodging the delicate plants. Right up until a vine sprang up from the ground catching him around his waist and holding him in place. His hands pressed down on the vine, trying to pull it off of him even as the scent of flowers increased once more, filling his head with a sickly-sweet smell.

“Dear me, child where are you hopping off too! Bellflower, we haven’t even started on brewing up any potions yet? How will you help him without anything to test on him?” Cagney soothed, Mugman pressed against the vine, but it wasn’t as desperate this time.  He tried to keep ahold of the image of his brother impatiently tapping his foot, but it slipped away the more he breathed in. He was turned around in the vine’s hold, now face to face with Cagney, who held himself above Mugman. His hands were on either side of the smaller mortal. Though the stance was threatening, Mugman simply couldn’t hold onto the worry that had been building before.

Mugman tried to disagree, since he could have Elder Kettle or perhaps someone else here brew up the potion. He’d seen his Alchemist caretaker craft potions enough that he bet he could do it himself. The scent of sweet flowers wouldn’t stop distracting him though.

“Now, I’ve been quite alone for a good number of years, I simply can’t recall the last time I had a little helper working along side me. Even so, wouldn’t you like to show me your gardening skills?” Cagney’s voice eased through the haze growing in his mind. Mugman pressed his palm to his forehead, his straw sliding until it tapped against his fingertips.

“That sounds wonderful, but…” He tried to refuse, knowing he had to, except, he _didn’t_ know why he had to. Cagney was correct, it would be far more fun to help out in this garden. He could learn so much here. Cagney rested his head on his fingertips, observing the little Bellflower fall back under the haze his garden dutifully let off.

He wasn’t lying about being lonely. Over one hundred years of not a single other who had any interest in flowers. The root pack were useless in regards to anything else _other_ than food related things. His dear sister on Isle Three was just that, on Isle Three. She rarely came over any more, and most definitely didn’t like digging in the muck to plant new breeds of flowers or trees. It would be so nice to have someone like this child around. Children were oh so easy to cultivate, he was sure this one would be perfect to have around.

“I just, he’s my…is there something burning?” Mugman’s dazed, slurred question caught Cagney’s attention. Then the smoke drifting by caught it and he snapped his head around to see a particular beast breathing hellfire onto his beloved roses. He forgot about the child, his rage towards the hound staring back at him with an aggressive snarl on its’ leathery face blocking out the fact that he needed to keep a tight grip on the boy.

The moment Mugman was released he scrambled away from the vine. Holding his breath, he backpedaled on his heels and palms, heedless of the plants he crushed. He watched as Cagney pulled up to his full height, as if trying to intimidate the hound. Mugman thought that odd, considering the hound wasn’t even a quarter of his size. Sure, the hound was bigger than Mugman, but he was small as is. The hound turned bright, burning eyes onto him for a split second. Taking that as his cue to leave, he did just that, running even as Cagney ranted to the beast about how he’d crush it, even if it meant incurring Devil’s wrath.

Mugman hoped the hound didn’t get crushed though, not when it was the reason he regained his focus. He loved flowers, but he loved his brother more. The bag thumped against his thigh as he sprinted down the path, down the stairs, and over the more elaborate bridge leading to Inkwell Isle two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured it would be interesting to write echoes of the past via Cuphead's interaction with the frog brothers before telling it from Mugman's perspective. that will likely happen more later on down the line...Boy howdy this sucker was long.... But I DID warn y'all that my chapters like to vary in length.   
> Cagney you one creepy lil shit. If you want helpers you gotta not be candy van you fool!  
> Gods I hope I'm conveying just how different this Inkwell is compared to the ultra happy and pretty one in the games and in my other stories. Until I color some of the concept sketches i've done, y'all will just have to make do with words I suppose. all 6 thousand of them this time. At least it isn't the 20 page Lady chapter!


	7. Dirty Day Clowns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For one, Isle One comes to an end, for another Isle Two begins.

Cuphead remembered how, when he and Mugman were very young, they tried to dare the other to sleep in the other spare room. Cuphead, believing it was the best thing in the world to have a chance to be a big kid, tried it first. He wound up running back to their shared bed not two hours later due to a nightmare. He didn’t remember what the nightmare was about. But he distinctly recalled pleading for Mugman to stay with him so the nightmares wouldn’t be able to pick which brother to go after and thus, leave the both of them alone. Mugman agreed, and though the placating manner he’d said it would later rankle Cuphead’s pride, Cuphead was just happy that he wasn’t afraid anymore.

He read that, originally, Hilda Berg had used dreams and nightmares to protect those that requested her help. The book said she loved using dreams to find the thing people wanted most, and if the dream or offering amused her enough, she’d take that desire to her brother, who would grant it, or at least think about granting it. Cuphead wasn’t sure how she’d see anyone’s desires in their dreams, his were usually just grand adventures. Though there was that one time he dreamt he’d lost his brother’s soul and had to fight a giant parrot to get it back… His brother had teased him for a good week after that dream.

He stared up at the observatory, puzzled as to why, on a building that looked surprisingly good, there was a lone shattered window. Considering the state of the last living space he’d come across, he guessed a broken window wasn’t really _that_ bad. The walls were still white, if a bit faded, he only saw a few spots of rust here or there. It _almost_ made him think this deity wouldn’t be as bad as the others. Almost, because he now knew better. Though he could see more of the Isle, and the oppressive air was far less aggressive, he had his doubts.

Not only that, but he wasn’t all that certain about how he’d be able to take on a dream deity. Especially with his Domain being half useless. He hoped he’d get stronger in the future, so he wouldn’t have to debate about confronting someone that just might have hurt his brother. Taking in an unneeded breath, he walked around the outer wall until he reached the large, heavy looking door.

Before, he’d look at that door, and worry it would be too heavy to open for his twelve-year-old strength. It was uncommon for porcelain types to be all that strong, at least that was what Elder Kettle had told him. Granted, Elder Kettle told him that right as he was scuttling up a tree to retrieve the kite he and his brother had lost a day ago. Now, with the knowledge that he’d broken numerous things inside the house without feeling any cracks or breaking, he was far less worried. Breaking a table with his bare hands was also great for even more proof he was far more durable than before.

He debated knocking, on the off chance it might put him in her good graces, but figured that it would be more fun to kick down the door and surprise her. Before he put his weight onto the door, in order to push it open, he remembered that window, and how, near it, had been a tree. Then, he got an idea.

====-====-====-====

Hilda Berg, still mourning the loss of the single mortal _not_ from the Isles, watched her former worshipper stumble about in a sleep-walking daze. Sure, warping his dreams had been fun, but his dreams of flying, still not ruined by her nightmares, irked her too much to be relaxing. That other child had been the far better option with his sweet home. Perhaps, she thought, if he was still on these isles and not dead at the hands of any of the others, or if her brother had caught the little bluebird, she’d be able to play with him once more.

It was a right shame she wasn’t paying better attention, and that her worshipper was lost in the land of dreams, unable to truly see the world around him. If she had, she’d have seen a young boy, equally porcelain as the last one, squirrel his way up the wall using the Observatory’s rib like beams. She’d have seen his eyes flash gold, his feather cast his shadow in a _far_ different light.

She didn’t.

But, it wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen to her that day.

====-====-====-====

‘She drugged my brother.’

‘ _Eat her heart.’_

Cuphead focused back on Hilda, only able to see scattered pieces of what she’d done in the past.  He wondered if it was because his Domain was more focused on speeding up the process it was currently working on. He didn’t need to see her shoot down another plane, or torch another giant balloon. He’d seen plenty when she _somehow_ knocked his brother out, after she’d done whatever she had to the guy bumbling about near a coffee table. He didn’t know how she’d done it as, at least based on the fragments, he hadn’t seen her do anything explicitly to cause his brother to faint. He’d also noticed that Mugman still had the chips in his handle, but no injuries anywhere else.

It wasn’t enough to stop him from doing what he was going to do though. His hands, tightly clasped to the beam directly above her head, let go. He descended on her like that chipmunk had Cuphead after the brother in red had disturbed its’ food stash. She had enough time to look up, and that was about all she had time to do before he’d landed right next to her. She screamed, tripping over her skirt in an effort to back up.

“Hey there! No, I’m not here to kill you… at least not yet, but…are you done? I’ve never heard someone scream for so long. Tell me where my brother went! I know you saw him!” Cuphead yelled over her screaming. She paused just long enough to take in the new guest, anger taking over her shock.

“Just who do you think you are!”

“I think I’m dropping in on the lady that drugged my twin and tucked him in like she was our long-lost aunt. So, really, I’m returning your rudeness with my own.” Cuphead, standing on the couch cushion so he’d be able to look Hilda in the eye, wondered if she was going to try denying it.

“Oh? So… that little one is _your_ brother? What, did he get the likeable traits?”

“I’m perfectly likeable to people who don’t invade my brother’s mind.”

“I doubt that. He must have gotten the smarts too, you can’t be that wise to just drop in on me.”

“Why? What are you going to do? Slap me on a plane or one of those giant balloons and roast me?” Hilda gave him an unimpressed stare. Two seconds later, Cuphead was having trouble keeping his eyes open.

“Ohhh…ssso that’s…swhat….” He slurred before toppling over in a heap, barely staying on the couch.

====-====-====-====

He was back in his home. The radio was playing an upbeat tune he’d heard more times than he could count. Their radio didn’t pick up a vast array of stations, what with them being relatively out of the way on the coast. Cuphead _still_ needed to ask Elder Kettle about the need to be so far out. He’d do it after he figured out what was going on. He looked around, taking in the burning fireplace, the soft rocking squeak from Elder Kettle’s chair, and Mugman’s humming as he pressed flowers. He was still bitter towards Elder Kettle, so while the squeaking just grated on his soul, the humming was far more soothing than he thought it would be.

He didn’t realize how badly he’d miss just sitting around after dusting the house to a nice shine. Yet here he was, coming to the quick realization that he wasn’t immune to Hilda’s Domain like he’d hoped he was. He shrugged to himself, in for a penny and all that. If Hilda wanted to let him see a pretty relaxing scene, he wasn’t going to say no.

“Color me surprised kid, I didn’t even notice you weren’t mortal.” The voice popping up behind him made him scream and launch himself across the table. The other two figures in the house didn’t pause in what they were doing. “Now look who’s screaming!” Hilda snarked, arms crossed across her chest. Cuphead shoved his straw back into his head, unwilling to let her get the upper hand in their impromptu battle, he leaned his elbow on the table.

“You’d be the first, congrats! Oh! Is it because…your head is lost in the clouds?” Hilda snorted, crossing her legs and leaning forward to rest one elbow on her knee.

“Funny.”

“So is the fact that you threw a hissy fit over people trying to reach you in the clouds.”

“That is _my_ space!” Hilda’s tone was dangerous, her face twisting into an ugly, wrathful glare. “They had _no_ right! I told them not to, but did they listen? Of course not! Arrogant little twerps just _asking_ to get shot out of _my_ sky. So I did! It’s not my fault they didn’t understand my warnings.”

“I may have been raised by a hermit but at least I know how to just flat out _tell_ Mugs when he’s hurting my feelings…Not that he did that a whole lot… There was that one time though…see, unlike you, he pays attention to things, why, I bet the second he see’s me he’ll know I’m a god! Also unlike you.”

“It’s probably because you’re so weak. Poor dear, it’s so easy to tell you’re a _new_ god, and what’s more? You’ve been separated from your brother! Why, I _do hope_ that know-it-all what raised you told you what happens to a pair of deities that die before they’re supposed to.” Her sharp grin should have raised more than enough red flags, but, in the world of dreams, Hilda had enough control to suppress it. It wasn’t as easy as she remembered it, she figured that was due to not having done anything with her Domain in a century.

“Well yeah, but you’re probably going to tell me your own rendition of what happens anyway.” He sighed, flopping his head onto his palm. She bat her lashes coyly.

“Why, all I’d be doing is being sure he didn’t _lie_. He liked to do that after all. Thought it was aces, messing with people, hoarding knowledge… But, if you’re saying he _did_ tell you that, if your brother is indeed your fellow god, he’s in for a rough time.” She paused, waiting to see his reaction. “However…” She got up, sauntering over towards the dream version of his twin.

“Let’s say…he _isn’t_ your fellow god.” She tapped Mugman’s straw, not taking her eyes off of Cuphead’s. “In that case, and it _does_ happen, do you know what god siblings do to what they perceive to be ‘false siblings’?” She let one of her nails tap rhythmically on Mugman’s handle, the rocking chair stopped its lazy squeaking. Cuphead, unlike Hilda, wasn’t smiling, dream or no, the dangerous gleam in his eye should have been warning enough for her to stop talking. Instead, she dragged her fingers until her hand wrapped around the dream versions’ handle entirely.

“ _The god_ _breaks them._ ”

 She whipped her arm around, yanking Mugman’s head off, smashing it against the wall behind her. The body fell to the floor, shoulder breaking under the weight. Blue tinted soul liquid slowly seeped into the floorboards, following the cracks in the wood right to Cuphead’s feet. The room warped, fading to a lifeless grey.

“We gods are _awful_ possessive, it comes in our nature! Gosh, I recall my own mortal sister. Poor thing didn’t even have a chance to run.” Her voice came from everywhere, her figure having faded along with the color in the house.

Cuphead _knew_ she was just trying to get into his head. He _knew_ she was trying to scare him, and he hated that it was working. He wanted to be angry, but he’d seen how he himself had changed. His Domain also kept mentioning a Scale, and though he originally thought it was Mugman, what if he was wrong? It was pretty clear that, due to being surrounded by so many other gods, the gods here couldn’t tell he himself was one until his new skillset showed itself. Still, even with his thoughts turning to worry, his expression didn’t change from the dark glare he gave the spot she originally had been.

“Odd, you were so confident before! What happened new god? Did you, perhaps, _not_ know about that? Elder Kettle had never been that great in the years before we got trapped at sharing vital information.”

“Elder Kettle said we were both gods.” Was all Cuphead gave in response. Her laughter grated on his nerves.

“Boy, when that kid came around, I didn’t even see a shred of a Domain in his mind. He was adorable, I’ll give him that, and I’m sure a few of the other gods would love nothing more than to dote on him. Keep him as a nice pet, if you will. If he isn’t already dead that is. But if even I didn’t find anything? I’m not so sure he’s yours. Perhaps he’s someone elses?” He felt fingers brush against his back, and turned sharply to glare at her. Only to find himself glaring at Mugman. He scrambled away, porcelain scraping against a wooden floor he couldn’t see anymore, faded to black like the rest of the area.

The haughty expression didn’t fit his brother’s face at all, and only served to ramp up his hatred for Hilda.

“Of course,” She mimicked Mugman’s voice in everything but the warmth behind his voice that was almost always present unless Mugman was upset. “You might be the one to kill me, have you considered, that by coming here, I might come running back to save you if I hear you’re here?” ‘Mugman’ tilted his head, resting his elbow on one palm and the other against his cheek. “Do you know how long you’ve been asleep, _brother?_ ”  

Cuphead launched across the empty space, with every intention to smack that wrong expression off ‘Mugman’s’ face. Instead, ‘Mugman’ suddenly dropped through the floor, sinking into the blackness without a single sound.

“Did you ever wonder if your Domain is perhaps getting you to chase after me just so it can make you end me? You’re on these Isles, you’ve seen the remains of the others that came here. Perhaps I’m safer here without you!” Cuphead’s hands clenched into fists, his soul liquid boiling away.

“How well do you know your Domain? It’s hungry isn’t it?” He knew the voice was coming from below now, so he looked down, half expecting to see her wearing Mugman’s face again. Instead he came face to face with that shadow he’d seen so many times. He barely threw himself out of the way of snapping jaws.

“What does your Domain even do?” Hilda’s voice was back, she sounded everywhere at once, leaving Cuphead disoriented in the black, empty void. “I know what _mine_ does.” Behind the already high-strung god, there came another splash. Cuphead almost didn’t want to turn to see what it was.

“Cuphead?” _That_ sounded _exactly_ like his brother. Cuphead spun, a spray of water arcing out from his movement. “What… Where are we?” Mugman’s hands were tightly clutching his black shirt. He was looking around, feet shifting, standing in the water with a fearful, confused grimace. “Did Elder Kettle help you?”

“Hilda you uncreative sack of flour.” Cuphead hissed, not wanting to believe this was truly his brother.

“Rude.” Came her echoed response. Mugman flinched, shoulders hiking up until they almost touched his cheeks.

“Is… That the dream goddess? Cuphead why… Are you here?” Mugman stepped closer, eyes bright with worry. Cuphead didn’t move, he didn’t think he would even if he wasn’t currently having a mini breakdown. He didn’t know what Hilda could do, the book just gave an outline. What if corruption added abilities. He opened his mouth, ready to question Mugman, but there was another splash, and he suddenly remembered that he wasn’t alone. Crocodilian hissing filled the near silent void.

“It’s a trick.” Cuphead weakly muttered to himself, attempting to force his mind to gain control of the situation. But, it had been so _long_ , and Mugman’s handle was still chipped, and he was staring at Cuphead with his wide, blue doe eyes. Two eyes rose from the water, illuminating the barest trace of a hippopotamus skull, directly behind Mugman. The hissing grew louder, the eyes dipped back below the water.

“It’s a dream, just a stupid dream, you aren’t here, you’re just Hilda messing with me.” Cuphead’s voice was stronger, but it shook. Mugman’s brows furrowed, the look he always got when he was debating just how to approach something in the least headache inducing way.

“Brother, just _what_ are you talking about?” Mugman reached out for Cuphead, the hissing grew to near unbearable levels.

“Kid, are you sure that isn’t your brother? You know, if you die in a dream…” Hilda’s voice tapered off, the water surged up to the left of Mugman, and the shadow of Cuphead’s Domain snapped it’s jaws closed around his brother. There was a shriek of pure agony. “You die in real life.” Hilda spoke over the screams. Cuphead collapsed to his knees for just a second, long enough for his Domain to bore a hole into Cuphead’s soul with the lone eye facing him. Then it was below the water, and Cuphead was back on his feet, face flushed a bright red.

“Hilda Berg! You had better be lying!” He shouted, body rattling with rage.

“Little bird, I would be more worried about who’s next on that thing’s ‘to eat’ list.” She replied, still hidden from his view. The screaming had vanished a few short seconds after the Domain had sunk back into the endless ocean under his feet.

“You—” The water rippled all around him, the hissing returned. This time, however, there was something different about it. Had Cuphead been less frayed at the nerves, blitzed out enraged, and scared out of his mind for his brother, he’d have realized that this hissing was far different from the previous hissing.

The Domain returned, charging towards him, water cascading off its’ face in waves.

‘ _What a fun game you are playing.’_ The far more familiar voice of his Domain froze everything at once. Everything just…stopped.

‘ _Surely you would not mind if I joined in?’_ From the depths of the water, in the deep, crushing silence, burst a massive set of jaws, split at the center, crushing down on the smaller version. Hilda’s panicked cries immediately drowned out the sadistically pleased rumbling from the impossibly large beast before Cuphead. The warm golden eyes focused on him.

====-====-====-====

Cuphead shot upright like a bolt, nearly falling off the couch in his haste. He caught himself on the arm of the couch, entire body rattling heavily, frustrated, scared tears sliding down his face. At his feet was Hilda, slumped over in the most uncomfortable position Cuphead had ever seen. He swore the only reason her body didn’t fall over was because her upper teeth were caught in the coffee table next to the couch.

‘ _Perhaps she will think before she tries to imitate me again. Her Domain must be so embarrassed.’_

“What… What did you do?” Cuphead looked around, catching sight of that metal creature flopped on the floor, quietly snoring in what looked like genuinely peaceful sleep.

‘ _Currently, I am giving her the dream treatment. I may not be able to devour her, but she left herself vulnerable, and her sins are so great in number, it was quite easy to bury her in a nightmare of her own. Speaking of, I would not eat your brother, before you ask.’_

“Is he…Would you help me protect him?” Cuphead’s voice was tiny, sounding far too young, lost, and scared.

_‘She is a dreamer, few of her ramblings were based in reality. We will not allow any harm to befall him. Now, it would be wise of you to leave this place, there is nothing more for you here.’_

With that surprisingly warm response, Cuphead was heading for the exit, trying to shake off his nerves. Behind him, his shadow silently twist to watch Hilda’s face twist and warp into one of unadulterated horror. The shadow smiled a wide, crocodilian smile.

====-====-====-====

It took him a few minutes of walking, but he regained his confident, determined stride. Right before he was stuck at a crossroads.

‘Wait…. If you were waiting…why didn’t you get her earlier?!’

_‘You are not to be coddled, and I was hoping you would fend her off on your own. I am half useless after all.’_

‘Great, you’re eavesdropping on my thoughts _and_ you’re vindictive. Amazing, how long until you don’t talk to me anymore?’

_‘Telling you would take the surprise out of it.’_

Cuphead grumbled, aimlessly taking the path instead of the stairs, glaring at nothing in particular. He was just about to pass under a tree when a few leaves fluttered into his soul liquid, making him squeal and shudder. Fishing the foliage out, he looked up, wondering if that chipmunk was following him now. He wouldn’t be surprised if it was, that thing seemed to reappear every year just to hurl acorns at his face. Mugman thought it was hilarious, Cuphead did not.

Cuphead dearly hoped his brother was still fine, he _really_ wanted to tell Mugman that Hilda impersonated him. Mugman would probably turn an icy blue, lightly— _far too lightly_ — question where she was at the time, and he’d get front row seats to Mugman’s wrath turned on someone else.

His thoughts, erratic as they were, ground to a halt upon spotting a stick thin hand weakly grasping the air in Cuphead’s direction. Cuphead wondered if it was Inkwell, until he spotted the shiny silver. With the next breath he was heaving himself up, skittering up the tree, reaching the bound man in seconds. It took a spot of time to unravel the poor fellow enough to see the damage hidden by the vines. The axe was missing an eye, a deep gouging line through the socket telling Cuphead all he needed to know about it. It was thin, likely from a century of having no way to move.

When Cuphead moved to help him down from the vines, he found the axe much lighter than he thought the man would be. The axe, gaping wound carved where the throat would have been, just gargled pitifully.

“Hey,” Cuphead whispered, settling the man down against a tree. “I don’t have any health potions on me, or… I do, but these things are older than you I bet, and I don’t think they’re very effective. Just wait here, and I swear when I find my brother I’ll come back. He’ll probably have a potion or two still. I’m real sorry I can’t do anything else for you.” He made sure the man was decently hidden in the brush, then continued down the path, heedless to the axe reaching for him once more, mouth working but no sound coming out.

====-====-====-====

A garden patch, he’d found a garden patch. The bright color in the light fog was almost painful for his eyes to look at, so used to dreary colors as they were. He recognized a few of the plants, but many were just a flat mystery to him. Spotting scorch marks across the way, marring the otherwise pristine garden, he went to get a closer look. He knew Mugman had grabbed a lighter, he wondered if his brother had used it. Hoping for a clue, he ignored the crushed flowers under his shoes, he figured whoever owned the garden was probably a god with flower healing powers anyway.

How else would the garden still look so well cared for, Cuphead reasoned. He did stop to admire the rickety supports for the wisteria. Reaching the spot of the burn he didn’t see anything overly interesting, but he _did_ decide that the fire wouldn’t have been from Mugman, not with the paw prints scorched into the dirt approaching the garden. Behind him, vines shifted, green hands dug sharp nails into tree bark as two vibrant green eyes glared at the intruder.

Cuphead, feeling the gaze bore into his back, pretended like he didn’t, or rather, he sort of pretended like he didn’t while his Domain distracted him.

‘You realize that is one angry flower, right?’

‘ _Yes, but I find it pertinent that I tell you, I have finished.’_

‘Finished with what?’

“Just what are you doing in _my_ garden?” The owner of the eyes had a deep, scratchy voice. Two far too massive hands pressed into the ground, barely seen in Cuphead’s peripheral view. “Don’t you know? It’s rude to just….” Leaves rustled, nails dug into the dirt, “Wander into someone else’s home?”

Cuphead turned only his head, unamused, but the size of his new opponent was more than enough to keep him from snarking just yet. There wasn’t something right about this one either. Cuphead could normally tell those he was facing off against were a mite unstable. This, went beyond that. Cagney, God of Nature, ruler of all things plant, hovered just above Cuphead, forcing the child to look up.

“Well I’m guessing I’m not the first, and it looks like you’re doing more damage than I am.”

“Is that so?” Cagney’s acidic gaze stayed locked on Cuphead, even as the burned patches on his stem and leaves faded in a wave of green. Barely peeking out from behind floral lips were, stained, razor sharp, jagged teeth Cuphead had no doubt could go through even his own porcelain. This wasn’t the same god he’d seen in drawings. The drawing for this one had made him look sweet. Cuphead wondered if Cagney could choose how he looked. He wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case.

An odd scent tickled his nose, giving him a headache almost immediately, so he stopped breathing all together. Water squelched under his shoe as he took a step away from the far larger being.

“Yeah, I mean, I’m just a tiny little kid! Surely a couple of—”

“You’re related to that other that came through… the little Bellflower.” Cagney’s voice, raspy, was far less firm than his gaze, like the thoughts were coming but there was an error in bringing the thoughts to his tongue. “I can tell… But, he was more preferable. Not as…rude.”

“Bellflower? What? Is it just a thing for you gods to be creepy?”

“So long…I felt like myself while he was around. Such a frail little Bellflower. That _dog_ …he likes to do that you know? You’re trapped here now, like the rest of us. He’ll mock you too…” Cagney’s serpentine body rose up higher as he glanced around.

“Okay, you lost me, just what kind of battle did you escape?” Cuphead backed up more, unsure as to whether he should just leave this deity to his fate.

‘ _No.’_

‘You say that because you aren’t here!’

_‘Of course, I am here. Why do you think this god is so unfriendly? He knows we are not what any of them need. We are a god, we serve mortals in our own ways. It is why we are born, or rather, why you were born. He might be sane around mortals but he shows his true state to those he has no reason to hide from.’_

“A feisty one, he loves sending his dogs… those things serve that _beast_ loyally. The Bellflower asked about a potion. I _know_ that potion, such a…” Cagney paused, tilting his head, staring at something behind Cuphead. Cuphead didn’t dare turn, his Domain wasn’t worried, so he wouldn’t worry. Water began sloshing just under the flowers.

“You’ve done something to my other siblings? They were gone for a little while. They’re back now, what did you do?” Cagney loomed closer, his nose going straight through the space where the bottom of Cuphead’s head and his shoulders were closest together.

“I just—”

“It’s quite sad that a god would harm others of his kind. Is that why your brother is here? Is he running from you?” Cagney’s nails dug further into the dirt, his teeth were bared a bit more.

“No, he’s trying to fix a mistake one of you made.”

“You mean, one of us. Was it that pathetic King Dice?  He came here…some time ago… I saw the hounds chase him.” The sky darkened. “Or perhaps… that weak coward wouldn’t have that book. Elder Kettle then? That’s… interesting.” Cagney’s vines began encircling Cuphead very loosely. The sky darkened further, fading into the deep blue of before. Cuphead fought to keep listening. He hadn’t even had a chance to read Cagney.

“If I answer you, you have to answer me.”

“Interesting…”

“Elder Kettle raised us, he was terrible at it. Why are you here?”

“He didn’t want to forget you… I was so close to enticing him to stay. It’s been…so long…” Cagney snapped up, pupils dilating. “They put me here! They put all of us here! They tore down my beloved gifts, the things I grew for them! My dear trees! For their filthy hovels!” Cagney’s vines thrashed, but didn’t tighten around Cuphead. “I…We did _everything_ for them! We served them, we helped them! They just…ignored me! _I shouldn’t have had to tell them_! They should have known!” He shrieked, water spraying up into the air.

A feather dripped out of Cuphead’s straw, as it had done for the three no longer within Cuphead’s Domain. It began to float towards Cagney.

‘ _A threat, to our Scale.’_

“You…you tried to make my brother forget about me?!” Cuphead’s glare, bright gold now, clashed against Cagney’s sharp green.

“I felt so _normal_ again, I could hear my Domain…it wanted to… I killed those that betrayed me. I crushed them, demolished their buildings, showed them… I gave them no chances after they decided to ignore my silent requests. They locked me here, they trapped all of us here. You too, you’re here now… won’t you share?”

 “You threatened my brother, you tried to make the one person that’s dear to me, forget about me. You claim you care about mortals but you destroyed them without even explaining yourself! You and Elder Kettle both have that stupid issue! How am I, or any mortal, supposed to know what you want? We aren’t, or weren’t, gods!” Cuphead stomped his foot, falling into the water as the vines descended on him, thorns dodged by the narrowest breath.

“I..” Cagney’s domain remained silent, pulling away as hippo teeth and crocodile fangs worked to rip him apart. He heard the cries of people who once tended to his gardens while he was away questioning why he’d destroyed their only means of sheltering from the cold. Heard them beg for him to understand. The old rage he felt for those demands rose again, even as the pain eclipsed his rational thought. He wasn’t at fault, he believed. They were the ones who failed to obey. The jaws snapped shut over him, dragging him into the water, into his countless sins and flaws.

The water continued to wash over Cuphead’s ankles. Even as Cagney’s animalistic screeches began to rise from the depths.

====-====-====-====

Mugman paused for half an hour in the odd building between Isle one and Isle two. It felt safe, there was no oppressive feeling, the air was clear, and it was the cleanest thing he’d seen thus far. Dust covered everything in a thick layer, but that was just about the only thing he could see wrong. So he leaned against the wall near a self-playing machine, weakly clicking as the musical score it once played remained tightly rolled up, long finished. He needed the breather, the reset. He hoped Cuphead would understand the delay. Then figured Cuphead drank the potion, so he could sit on his mistake for a little longer.

====-====-====-====

The fog on Isle Two had an odd, rusty tint. The floor was no longer a dirt path but stone. He could see echoes of bright, chipper colors, peeled away with time, painted on the filthy off-grey ground. Creaks from metal structures sprang up every now and then, disturbing the silence Mugman had grown used to. He wondered if this Isle had less things wrong with it, thus saving it from total graveyard silence. That, he mused, or there was so much wrong here that even the fog couldn’t suppress all the sound. He hoped he could just skim by this Isle. There was a far more pressing feeling of wrongness here.

Frightened as he was from his encounter with the carnation, he resolved himself to be even more alert. There wasn’t much else he could do, but now he had a goal to find anyone that might know about the non-plant-based parts to the potion. He mostly just wished Elder Kettle had come around more often so he wouldn’t have had to come this way just to help his brother. Pushing his bitterness aside, as it was detrimental to his focus, he blindly angled his steps to the right, up until he reached a gate. Above him, the skeletal supports of what looked like a mining car track gone weird creaked and groaned.

He idly rested one hand on the gate, trying to get a closer look at the towering structure. Upon puling his hand back, he discovered it was covered in a thick brownish-red rust. Wincing, he dug into his pack, grabbed a bottle to repair his handle, and a new glove. A splash or two later and he was off to find an entrance to the gate, glove tucked into his back pocket. The creaking unnerved him, making him think that at any point the thing creaking above him was a god standing or turning to eye him. He certainly felt something observing him, but what it was, he couldn’t tell.

The rusted track swayed as a few cars slowly grinded ancient, oily wheels along. Never bumping into any others but not moving quickly enough to look right. The ground under the struts was slick with goopy oil and stained by streaks of rust. To Mugman it appeared like the paint had given up entirely, because while he could see patches of yellowed white, it wasn’t enough to give him an idea as to what this thing looked like in its’ heyday. A thunderous crash above him sent him scrambling for the entrance to the thing, just as a car from one of those above crunched into the stone where he’d been moments before.

He pressed his hand to his chest, his soul liquid racing through his shivering frame. Following the car was a clown. At least, he guessed it was a clown. The clown wasn’t smiling though, just staring at Mugman like one would a potential enemy. Mugman remained frozen, body tense in case he had to move suddenly. Under the sign to the skeletal structure as he was, he wasn’t as worried about something falling on him.

The clown gazed at him, red and white face blank of any pleasant emotions. Then, he held up a finger, asking a moment of Mugman’s time. Mugman found that odd considering he had no way of truly running from someone that could apparently ascend and descend whenever they pleased from the sky. Reaching into one sleeve, the clown pulled out a fully inflated long balloon. A few quick motions, and the balloon was in a new shape. Confused, Mugman tilted his head.

“A dog.” The clown spoke, voice high pitched. Mugman’s breath hitched.

“Not a fan?”

“No, it’s a dog. You just said so.” Mugman didn’t know why he decided to try for a joke, it was just the first thing that came to his mind. The clown’s severe face twitched, then, a smile grew. Mugman didn’t know what to make of that smile, but there was something in his soul prodding for him to leave as quickly as he could.

“Ah, humor, such a rare thing in these parts. You ever try telling a joke to a skeleton? Make no bones about it, they’re a dead crowd.”

“So… it’s tough to crack their funny bones?”

“Indeed! How nice to see a new, young face around here! I’m surprised you got past Bon Bon… Or…no, I suppose she wouldn’t be here around this time. Beppi at your service! I’m the God of Performance, theaters, what have you. My sister handles the musicals though, I’m more a fan of show-stopping feats and wonders than wooing the audience with a grand tale.” Beppi offered Mugman the balloon. Mugman hesitantly took it.

“I don’t have anything to give back.”

“Nonsense! Jokes are plenty! Though, I wouldn’t mind an audience, it’s been so long you see! That fuss-pot Djimmi doesn’t let me in anymore…” Beppi slumped dramatically, giving Mugman a pitiful pout. The thing telling Mugman to run, got louder.

“I have no idea who that is… Sorry.”

“What?! You… You don’t know of the wishy-washy wisher himself? Well slap my face and call me Bendy that’s atrocious!” Beppi reached out for Mugman’s hand, Mugman almost pulled away, but Beppi was faster. His quick, jerky motions surprised Mugman, since the god hadn’t shown any energy like that before. Before he’d even had a chance to refuse, he was pulled hastily through the wide street, his steps making a light tapping noise. Behind him, another sound grew louder. It sounded heavy, like something was dragging itself, something wet.

Turning to try and see through the rusty fog, he only caught a glimpse of a hand larger than Cagney’s, made of mold infested cake. He bit back a surprised scream as Beppi twisted around, tossing Mugman over his shoulder and carrying him on ahead towards a building shaped like a pyramid. The hand, and whatever it was attached to, faded off into the fog, a squelching burble sending shivers down his back.

The building they went into was strange. The second he went in, he felt something immediately try prying into his soul, as if trying to get access to everything that he was. Something within him bat it aside angrily. Mugman, with an ill feeling, had no chance to try fighting the grip of the god as he was brought further into the new environment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When in the presence of a mortal, the gods, having not seen one in a damn long time, act far different than they truly are. You try being isolated for a century or so without seeing a new face and see how well you'd handle seeing one of them lil fella's you used to dote on. I swear i have no idea why these chapters are turning out so long.... But ey! A few things to ponder in Cagney's ramblings.


	8. Intermission Inkwell Isle One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look back.

The first thing Goopy Le Grande could remember was the sound of water rushing over him. He was content, where any who needed to breathe would panic, he remained calm. Drifting with the currents, listening to something whisper sweet, excited words in his mind. He didn’t mind not knowing what was going on, didn’t mind that the last thing he remembered before the first thing he remembered was being unable to feel anything at all but crushing pressure. He was happy, the thing whispering to him was happy, and he figured that was all that mattered.

The thing whispering told him of his dear sibling, already swimming around in deeper waters. He was told of how he was to interact with those that the thing couldn’t. He would be its voice. He saw flashes of a nebulous mass, no set body structure, much like his. Though, where the thing had no face, no features, he did.

‘ _From the past, mortal times.’_

It had said, and he’d accepted that. There was no reason to fret beyond knowing he’d been something before, and now he was something else. So, he’d gone up to the surface. Introducing himself with enough flair to have the thing speaking so sweetly to him sighing fondly. He’d proven his skills, giving his body over to the thing, his Domain, as requested. He’d been just as amazed as the mortals before him when his Domain carved a path through the fields, gladly working with the people to feed their parched crops.

Then he’d discovered boats, and he’d almost fallen in love. He cherished batting around the boats, pushing them when the wind wouldn’t, spreading his form through the waves to push other ships along with equal ease. He’d loved every second of it. The people, dropping nice trinkets into the water for him, some calling to him using his Domain to protect them when the rivers grew rough. He did so enthusiastically, almost losing his solid form from the sheer joy of it. The thanks, the praise, it was more than he could ask for. The gifts, the offerings, all of it was so grand.

Then, people changed.

They created a loud thing, called it a propeller.

He found them close to those waterwheels he’d play with, only oriented differently, and decided they would be great fun as well.

 Right up until a heavy one, easily half his size, sucked him in.

He’d woken up a day later according to his Domain. His Domain had sheltered him, cracking the boat in half under its’ wrath, dragging it under. Revenge it had said. He’d been wary. Wondering just what would prompt the people above to choose such dangerous things over his own method.

So he’d decided to sit back for a little, to heal, to observe. He wasn’t fond of what he saw.

He’d done… _so much_. He was the best at what he did, helping entire groups of barges through rivers, even aiding in dam construction, irrigation when needed, and now, the thing he found most fun, was being taken away. The people tried calling for him, but he’d ignored them, mind racing with patches of knowledge. He examined the broken thing that had hurt him so much, trying to figure out what made it better.

 He couldn’t find a reason.

He’d even asked his sister, who’d shrugged. She’d seen them too on ships in her area, but the vast majority of ships were still sailing ships on her part. She also had plenty more room to avoid them. Though she’d gotten a nasty scar from a run in with a sinking ship whose propellers had cut through her arm when she’d tried keeping it afloat. He’d gone to a few of the other deities, all of them simply shrugging, some even asked him if he’d simply not put enough of himself up to really keep them in awe of him. He’d taken that to heart.

Perhaps he’d been too humble, his bragging had been warmly received, but he wondered if he hadn’t done _enough_. So he returned, pushing the ships with no propellers even faster than those with. Sometimes while passing a boat with one of those wheels, he’d break them if they weren’t on. His Domain had questioned why he’d suddenly become so aggressive, it had no problem with the new fans, believing them to be interesting. He ignored it.

He ignored it when he began sinking ships with the propellers as added incentive to get rid of them.

He ignored it when he began using his strength, gained from pushing countless ships, barges, rowboats, and the like, to crush any who didn’t drown.

He forced it to listen to him when he increased the power of the waters, making them rage as much as he and his damaged ego were.

_He was perfect. He was Grande, he was the best and they’d chosen metal fans over his far more experienced greatness._

Soon, rivers were littered with the remains of those he’d sent below, the skeletons of ships would poke out of the water, making even the boats with no propellers sail out less. He grew even more bitter, and he’d put all of his power to force his Domain to _stop._ The waters grew stagnant, unable to move, conflicted between the Domain and the Deity.

Then, one day, he woke up, not in the river bed he’d been in earlier, but in Inkwell’s impressively and suddenly unfriendly waters. He was confused, but not worried. His Domain had long since stopped answering him, remaining as hushed as the waters around him. He called for his sister, wondering if she too was nearby, but she hadn’t answered his calls. Instead the seas around the Isle’s had _raged_ , and he’d felt a bit of relief seeing that. His sister was confused too, so he wasn’t suffering alone.

He’d tried to leave then, only to crash into a wall that didn’t so much as budge.

The rivers raged that day too, and the day after, and many more after that. He’d screamed, threatened, hit, all until a few of the other deities demanded he shut up. He’d tried to get Cagney back for that, only for the walls around his current spot to suddenly crash together, squashing him. He hadn’t gone after Cagney after that.

He recalled seeing a flash of a gold piece mortal, and, needing something to vent his anger, had grabbed the mortal, dragged him under, and kept him under. Gold wouldn’t decay like other metal sorts would, so he’d crushed the man under his fists until the mortal had rested limply against the riverbed, unmoving. Filling the indent with sand, he’d moved on, finally content.

It wouldn’t last, but there’d be nothing he could do, stuck as he was. Soon, the silence would cause him to start up a ritual of self-worship, just so he’d never forget how Grande he was, so when he was released, he’d be ready to show those mortals what happened when they trapped a God.

====-====-====-====

The Root Pack were well aware of their past mortal lives. They knew they’d been farmers, whose crops flourished even when no others did. They’d shared their bounty with those around them, happy to do so, even when those the food was given to couldn’t pay them at the time for the food. They were aware they’d get other things for their gifts, and were content with that instead.

Then Moe had forgotten to put out the lantern for the night, distracted as they all had been by an odd feeling slowing their movements.

Their crops had burned in a blaze of bright fire. Weepy had gone up almost impressively fast, fire blackening his body, but not hindering his shrieks. Psycarrot had gone down next, trying to put out Weepy, but only catching himself as well. He’d screamed for Moe to get away, wait for the fire to die down.

Moe tried to dig a pit for them to fall into, hoping the dirt would smother the flames, he’d always been the best digger. Only, that time was different. He’d barely been able to breathe, eyes blurry with muddy tears as he’d desperately shoveled dirt aside, looking for the aquifer he knew was under their land.

He’d found it, by falling into the cave it sat over.

He’d woken up later to a massive spike of rock pinning him. His brothers found him using his cries. Weepy was still singed, wincing with every movement. Psycarrot, arms blackened and shriveled, had been the one to haul him off the spike. They’d all wept for a few hours, but then, their Domain had called to them. Soothing their wounds, healing them with an impressive show of power.

Their Domain, a mass of writhing vines and eyes, gazed at them fondly, easing their worries as quickly as it had healed them. It imparted as much knowledge as they’d wanted into them.  Telling them of how it was time to up the ante, increase their reach. They’d eagerly explored the new things they’d gained. Moe, now even faster with his digging, spread nutrients around, keeping the soil rich. Weepy burned away the threats to gardens, crying with a smile on his face. Psycarrot tilled entire fields in seconds, third eye manipulating their Domain, giving older farmers breaks.

They’d loved their jobs, going above and beyond, obeying their Domain’s wishes readily.

People, mortals, loved them just as much as they had before, going to them with trinkets, gifts. At first, they’d rejected them. Those things weren’t needed after all, being gods negated any need for wealth. But, Weepy started filling up their little shack on Inkwell with his favorites, to remind him of the farmers who’d done as they did, and given something important up to thank the gods for their aid.

The trinkets became common, became offerings, things used to pay in a show of just how much the people needed them. They _loved_ feeling needed. Loved knowing that the people would face starvation without their kind help. Besides, the trinkets didn’t have to be fancy, they thought, just important.

Everything was nice, they invented new breeds of crops, passed them around under Cagney’s and Rumor’s watchful gaze, and raked in the praise. All the way up until the people began doing the same.

Moe was the first to notice people growing something he didn’t recall crafting. Psycarrot and Weepy didn’t either, Cagney certainly hadn’t had a hand in that, so he’d told them to handle it however they wanted. They’d asked the farmer’s, deciding to handle it based on the response.

“We’ve watched you,” They’d said. “We learned to do what you do!” They’d cheered. The brothers didn’t join the celebration.

That night, that farm was devoured by a new cave, no one on that land survived the sudden collapse. More and more farms with unknown plants fell to the same fate. Their Domain had questioned them, wondering why they were suddenly tearing the little mortals apart.

‘ _That is not what you do. Why are you upset?’_

“We’re replacing you.” The brothers had heard. “We’re copying you so you’re worthless to us now.” They’d gleaned. So, in retaliation, they took away their help.

Weepy sobbed, burning the ground until nothing would grow.

Moe made the land unstable, unsafe, dragging farms under.

Psycarrot uprooted seeds, turning the soil until wind kicked up massive dust clouds, burying everything in their wake. The farmers begged, the ranchers tried to offer their animals, nothing had worked. They ignored the mortal’s pleas.

They hadn’t expected to wake up one day to find themselves on Inkwell.

They certainly hadn’t expected to find themselves trapped either. Their Domain silent to their calls. Around them, seas and rivers raged, a sure sign that the other deities were trapped as well.

They’d raged in their own way. Ripping apart the island, incurring Cagney’s wrath, but finding it worth the heavy wounds he’d given them. They’d tried every way they could think of to escape, tried to ask their Domain to tell them what had happened. Their Domain had simply settled, closing countless eyes, ignoring their pleas.

====-====-====-====

Hilda Berg had always had grand dreams of flying. She’d been so desperate to feel the wind running through her hair, she’d taken to pedaling her bike as fast as it would go down hills. When her hair tangled too much, she cut it shorter. Scrapes and scratches of all sizes littered her thin body. But she hadn’t cared, too enthralled by the feeling of soaring over the land. Her mother and father, far too tired with various illnesses, let her have her fun.

It had been fine. She was learning all sorts of new tricks, impressing those around her with her skills, getting more and more height, using more elaborate stunts to get higher.

It was late one night, a trick she’d been forced to practice in the streets due to the perfect hill being said street, that she’d been distracted. It was a shooting star, glittering across the sky, that caught her attention. As she flew through the air, she’d failed to realize her trajectory had been miscalculated.

Her bike had missed the streetlight. She hadn’t. Her torso was what smashed the lamp, burning oil catching her clothing, skin, and hair alight with ease. Broken body tumbling through the air, the glass had gone into her arm and neck, slicing through arteries. The last thing her mortal eyes saw was the starry sky, and a lone star, streaking across the sky.

She woke up, body made of shimmering star dust, Domain cheerfully calling to her. Her domain was more of a fog, changing form every other minute. It was still night, and she’d been attracted to the sleepy murmurs of a young child. Intrigued, guided by her Domain’s near reverent coos, she’d found the child. Then, she was within their dreams, watching the boy happily roll down the street with new roller skates.

Another voice had hummed, taking in the simple wish. She’d been confused, but her Domain had reassured her, that was her brother, and he was simply taking what she gave him.

She’d returned to the waking world to find a shiny pair of skates on the boy’s nightstand.

Originally, she thought her only job was to go into dreams, find the thing people wanted most, and let her brother take over from there. Her Domain had laughed at her, ushering her towards the quiet cries of a man caught in a nightmare. With barely any effort, she’d taken over the nightmare, banishing the chains keeping the man from his family, leading him confidently towards a happier dream. Her brother had ecstatically congratulated her on her first real solo wish granting.

She’d continued to grant sweet dreams while using the dreams to decide if the person dreaming deserved her brother’s magic. That had been done after a woman had taken the granted wish of a new garden to bury her husband, making way for her lover. Hilda had been so enraged even her Domain hadn’t been able to stop her from warping the woman’s dreams into horrible night terrors.

She became known as the Dream Goddess. People began leaving intricately woven nets, dream catchers, to call for her when they simply couldn’t handle their own nightmares anymore. She wouldn’t help with simple or rational fears after all. Some would add a star to the weave, informing her they had a wish request. Most often she’d get her brother to grant them if she liked the person, if not, she’d strike fear into their minds, in an effort to get them to change their ways, even a little.

People loved her, even if some found her methods of fixing personality problems a tad intrusive. Still, she was loved, and people offered her things. One man had even commissioned for an observatory to be built on Inkwell so she could look further past the stars. She’d given him a piece of herself, a star piece, and he’d dreamt nothing but the grandest of dreams until his death.

Then, one day, she saw something in the sky.

She’d known that a few people dreamt of flying like she did. She knew they would beg her to show them how it felt to fly, and she did. Gladly showing them the grandeur of the clouds above. When she wasn’t dream hopping, she was flying, soaring through the skies, swirling through clouds. She had no problem sharing the feeling with them.

The actual air though? She _did_ mind sharing.

The first few planes, the early inventions, she let pass on the assumption that they’d fail and people would return to their balloons, staying low to the ground.

They didn’t.

She grew _angry._

She tried using dreams first, giving nightmares of horrible crashes, people made their inventions sturdier in turn. She gave them dreams of people getting sucked into propellers, they wore tighter, warmer clothing. Nothing she did seemed to work.

So she returned to the physical world, and tore the planes out of the sky herself.

Her brother had questioned her, just as her Domain did, but she’d told them to zip their lips. She would tolerate sharing the sky with Wally, Grim, and sometimes even her brother, but mortals had no such right. Even the bird mortals, she’d snarl at them if they got too close to her sky. She refused to share her precious space with obnoxiously loud contraptions. So she cut through the engines, set pilots ablaze, tore wings off, sent them falling to their deaths. She did everything she could to dissuade them from flying. The first few pilots crashed, some dreamed that she was merely trying to teach them how to better their machines. She began collecting skulls in return, a silent show of how wrong they were.

Instead, they began to fear her.

They put wards up instead of welcomes.

She grew _enraged_.

She tried confiding in her brother, but he’d been more silent, unable to reassure her. Her Domain hissed at her, unhappy with her change of character. She’d waved it off.

Right up to the point where she found herself trapped on Inkwell.

Unable to see where she went wrong, she’d kicked, crushed, and shredded all skulls she had from her conquests in the sky. Djimmi had repaired the bones, as per her request, and she’d settled among her former worshippers. Waiting for a mortal to return, so she could taste their sweet dreams, explore their worlds, share them with her brother.

She’d waited to fly, she could wait for the perfect mortal to show up.

====-====-====-====

Ribby and Croaks were scruffy children, amphibians or no. They were rowdy, causing their parents headaches every day. But, excitable as they were, they didn’t mind the exasperated looks. It took well into their adult years for their time to come.

For years, they rose their fists up against opponents, fighting with fists where they believed words had no place. The brothers almost always came home scraped up, bruised, but happy. Then something brushed against Ribby’s jaw, distracting him enough for his surprised opponent’s fist to smash against his head. Something cracked, and he went down.

Croaks, had gone after the other fighter, fury making his swings far too wild. He was pinned, dragged away, and died in ways no one would understand in the jailcell before anyone would know what to do with him.

Their Domain had laughed at them, a curvy silhouette covered by thick feathers, playfully teasing them while welcoming them at the same time.

They’d had to learn what to do by trial and error. When a boy, wanting to fight and win to impress a scruffy girl approached them, Ribby punched Croaks, and proclaimed that the boy would win. To their surprise, the boy did, scrawny though he was, something seemed to hover over him, draped over him, giving him just enough luck to win the little scrap.

So, they’d continued doing what felt right. Learning that, just because they said someone would win, didn’t mean they truly would, at least, not in the battles. Everyone that would gain victory from them _did_ get something. A woman who lost the battle with cancer found peace. A child who lost their favorite toy found a new friend. People still gained, and were even more soothed knowing that the gods couldn’t warp the outcome of a fight.

Or at least, the brothers had never tried, not seeing a need to. Until someone gave them a particularly _nice_ gift. Then, well it was just dust in Croaks eye, causing him to let his brother get a hit in.

Their Domain, usually laughing and rowdy, went abruptly silent.

They didn’t notice, too blinded by an increase in luxurious things.

People began to see them not as fair, but rigged. Often refusing to fight those who’d approached the brothers. The brothers, insulted, mauled the first one to outright say no to a fight while they were there. The mauling became more common, the brothers grew more brutal.

Then a man, who was supposed to win, threw a fight out of pity for his fellow boxer.

His body was found with every bone crushed, face twisted in unmitigated agony.

It was then that people started to go to them less, fearing their wrath. The brothers didn’t understand the change, couldn’t fathom why someone wouldn’t want to ensure their own victory. They’d visit boxing rings, only to find everyone running from them the moment they entered the door.

So enraged, they barricaded a door once, forcing those who were fighters, some even not, to fight. People died, matches were only stopped when one was no longer moving, sometimes, not even then.

The next week, they were on Inkwell, their boat unable to travel more than a few meters out from the shore. Many on the ship died, falling to their wrath. Their Domain finally laughed once more, but this time… it was mocking.

====-====-====-====

Cagney Carnation was a tiny, frail little flower upon first coming into existence. His fellow garden-mates all were. Cagney, enraptured by the overwhelming beauty around him, wound up being rather flighty. He’d have to be tapped to keep his focus on whoever wanted it, right up until he found a way to leave where he’d sprang up from the ground. Then, no one could get him to settle.

He had believed that, as a flower, he’d be able to grow whatever he wanted, only to learn quickly that that simply wasn’t the case. He’d been found by a young teapot, yelling at a patch of dirt that was supposed to be sprouting up basil by now. They’d laughed at him, and showed him where he’d gone wrong. He learned from that teapot, falling more and more in love with how much love the teapot put into their garden. He wanted to emulate that, wanted to be like that.

He also found himself not wanting to leave, afraid he’d miss out on learning more. The teapot was the one that wound up leaving first, entrusting the garden to him, packing their bags, and leaving for a city they’d never return from. He stayed there, practicing more and more tricks, a voice whispering to him, telling him what would work and what wouldn’t. He’d listened to it, thinking about how impressed the teapot would be when they returned to find a bountiful garden.

Then winter fell, and he realized just why his kind needed to constantly travel. He’d fallen asleep taking care of a row of winter jasmine.

He didn’t wake up exactly how he fell asleep.

He woke up, body far more massive than before. His thick arms easily lifting the new weight of his towering body. He’d looked around, intrigued. His Domain had urged him underground, promising to explain more as he was taken to a warmer climate.

He could survive cold now, but the one he’d been waiting on, was dead. He learned how he could bring things to grow in a matter of seconds, body thrumming with the power of his Domain. He’d gone on to soak in as much knowledge about his new life as fast as he could, returning to the garden every year to bring it back, out of habit.

His sister found it endearing, and urged him to use that garden to test new things, new plants. She built up a hive near the garden, and they’d used it as their first base. Inkwell was their second. The two used the other to spread grand plants all across the globe. People adored the beauty that arrived whenever Cagney did. They took to learning from him, listening to his tricks and tips.

Then he’d returned to the place he’d been born, only to learn people had torn down the first tree he’d laid eyes on, using it to build what he thought was a home. People had seemed awful eager for him to see the remains of his favorite tree, cut to craft something with depictions of himself burned into the wood. He’d blinked, and found it gone, broken and torn to shreds.

His wrath continued on the more he noticed the things he grew being torn down to form ugly huts. He told his sister, and she’d raged with him, already upset for reasons he didn’t care to remember. People were torn to shreds, buildings reduced to nothing, all the way until he was bound to Inkwell.

He’d been upset, cut off from sharing his knowledge with those _worthy,_ but even more upset at how his Domain had been less than helpful. Simply shrugging, thick, bark-like flesh cracking with the slow movement. He’d taken his anger out on Goopy, and any others that decided approaching the god far too soon was a good idea. He didn’t think to apologize, not seeing a need to.

Then, he’d settled, figuring he’d just focus on making more things, new things, better, prettier things. So when the next mortal came, he’d have plenty to share with them. He’d do what he hadn’t done for the first one he’d come across, the teapot, and keep them. They’d be safe, and he’d always have someone to share knowledge with. That axe had damaged one of his flowers, and was thus, unworthy.

He’d wait, he’d done it before, and he’d do it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one knows which corrupted deity has the highest kill count. But none of them fall below the hundreds. Well, none but perhaps, one.   
> Every deity MUST die to become a god. They ALL start mortal, and like Kettle said, mortal's can't handle the sheer power of their Domains. Each Domain is also different.  
> I just wanted to take things back a bit, give the story a break if you will, the next chapter is also in the works already, so expect it soon.


	9. All a Djinn Wishes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some deities didn't fall as hard as others.

Cuphead was _tired._ He found himself resting against a marble building, growing more and more cranky. He knew this wasn’t the way to the next Isle, but Mugman was probably safe, despite Inkwell refusing to say anything else. So he leaned against the building, listening to the river bubble away. From behind him, in the building, something would rattle, but his Domain just hissed. He guessed that meant whatever was moving wasn’t something he should bother with. Rather, he didn’t actually care if it was. It was probably a deity who got what was coming to them.

Unfortunately, he simply couldn’t fall asleep. He wondered if it was his Domain’s fault. Then decided it was more because he couldn’t even close his eyes for long before remembering Hilda’s dream shenanigans. Sure, he knew Mugman was fine, because Mugman was a manipulative master. The few times Elder Kettle got mad at them lasted for even fewer seconds thanks to Mugman’s word manipulation. Cuphead was certain his brother had likely gotten through simply by using what he was best at. But the dreams had been _vivid_. His brother was far weaker, more fragile, than anything here too.

Cuphead was getting through just fine with his own methods after all. He closed his eyes once more, repeating in his mind that Mugman was fine. The rattle in the building started up again, to the point that he snapped. He stood, face contorted into a nasty, tired pout. Storming into the building, finding the rattle, he ignored the ghosts clearly peeking at him from their tombs, too focused on the most annoying one.

‘ _She is not good.’_

‘She could be a saint and I’d still smack her.’

“Hey! People are trying to catch their breath out there!”

“Please, help me!”

“Why? You got in there, you’ve gotta be able to get out.” Cranky Cuphead didn’t care _how_ pathetic the voice was, she could be on the brink of death and he wouldn’t care. A few of the ghosts floated towards him, bravely—but slowly—charging to…do something, hell if Cuphead cared. He just raised a hand and shot them, vivid pink snap-fire instantly sending them away. There was an odd noise in the vase on the center pillar.

“Excuse me, what are you doing?”

“Trying to get you to zip it. Anyone else want to find out what this thing can do? Because I’ll warn you, I have no idea either.” Cuphead held his glowing hand up threateningly, feather casting a monstrous shadow on the back wall. Said shadow was focused on the vase, gleaming eye-lights seemingly peering through more than just ceramic. The other ghosts, watching the ones hit by the light vanish, relieved smiles on their faces, charged at him with eager glee, until none were left.

“That’s not…”

“Lady, I _know_ you’re a goddess. There’s no way you aren’t. So the fact that you got stuck here is stupid. I don’t have time to waste on saving someone who’s here because they deserve it either. If you aren’t willing to be quiet then I’m moving elsewhere. I _swear_ you jerks get worse with every second I’m on these stupid Isles.” Cuphead ignored the indignant shout from the vase, turning on his heel to leave.

“Boy, you will stop where you are if you want to continue breathing.” The woman sounded vastly different from before. Her voice dark, threatening. Cuphead sucked in a large breath, little chest expanding dramatically, and held it. He also kept walking. He knew she was doing something that would probably hurt him, his Domain bristling in insulted rage. So he shot behind him, relying on the sound to keep his shot true. There was a cry of pain, the clatter of something metal falling to the marble floor, and then he was out of the building, leaving with all the wrath of an almost-teen.

====-====-====-====

He found the bridge easily, yanking open the door to the odd house, unhappy there was something else that could slow his progress or prevent his rest. Instead of filth or fight, he entered a surprisingly soothing silence. He found the footsteps from his brother in the dust, following them to find his brother had taken a few moments to relax here too. Plopping down next to the clean patch of carpet, he leaned until his rim clinked against the wall.

“You are gonna be so proud of me, Mugs. I yelled at Elder Kettle for us, yelled at a few gods, ate a couple of them, which was weird!”

‘ _He is not here, why are you—’_

“But see, I know you probably think I just stormed through but I didn’t! I cleared the air,” he paused to snicker at his own pun, glancing out the window on the door to Isle One, looking pointedly at the light fog. “I know what a few of them did to you, but you don’t gotta worry about that. I got back at them for you. I’ll keep doing it too! I bet you and my Domain will get along great.” He paused, taking a deep breath, closing his eyes.

“You still have to yell at Elder Kettle though, you’re better at making people feel guilty… So, hang on for a little bit longer, okay?” He let his body go slack, even when he heard footsteps quietly move past him, and even when the music machine began to play a cheery but quiet tune. He kept his eyes closed, not quite sleeping, but not quite awake. His Domain let him, focusing more on fixing the deity within.

====-====-====-====

Mugman stopped breathing, sand flowed endlessly around Beppi’s feet, scratching at Mugman’s face. He’d never seen so much sand, even on the beaches. The entrance fell further away as he was brought deeper into the home of another deity. Trying to see past Beppi’s shoulder, he put his small hand on the God’s shoulder, twisting his head until he caught sight of a town far in the distance. He’d also never seen such buildings before, but, he thought they were pretty.

Bright white circling a crystal blue lake, green trees dotting the town. The wind carried countless voices, and compared to the silence of outside, he found himself forgetting about his predicament. Right up until the thing suddenly in his head barked at him. Then it was easy to remember he was over the shoulder of a definitely dangerous clown. He tried wiggling out of the grip, only for a far larger hand to wrap around his thigh, and _clench_. He winced, ceasing all movement. The hand loosened just enough to not be uncomfortable. A hand, one with very tangible claws, pat him on the back mockingly. He had no idea when the clown grew nails, he didn’t want to know.

“Excuse me, Mr. Beppi? Where are we?”

“We are in the lair of the sexiest Genie you’ll ever see.”

“The what?”

“And here he comes!” Beppi tossed Mugman into the air, the child squeaking, scream barely suppressed. He was caught by a hand so large, he fit in the palm easily. The red skin was warm, and though the fingers twitched like they were about to cage him in, they didn’t actually do so.

“Just what did you bring here _this_ time Beppi!” A booming voice, deep and resounding, belted out, agitation clear.

“A special delivery o’ fairest in the carnival!” Mugman was lifted up until he was face to eye with a new deity. This one had no nose, but a bright teal hat, matching vest, and curious eyes. Mugman weakly waved, something he found himself doing far too often. He didn’t even know why he kept it up, it didn’t even seem to work half the time.

“Hello Mr…um… Genie?”

“Djimmi, actually, God of Wishes and Desires!” The man replied, far quieter now that the boy was right next to his face. Mugman hoped that meant the man was friendly, but didn’t hope too much. The god examined him carefully, at least until Beppi popped a balloon right next to Djimmi’s face. Djimmi jolted, hand tightening, pinky cracking Mugman’s leg clean off. The trio stared at the liquid pouring down Djimmi’s hand, blue tint marring Djimmi’s red palm. Then he screamed, Beppi screamed, Mugman almost fainted.

“Wish it back on! Wish—kid don’t lose it on me! Holy shit! Beppi you son of a—” A sword brought the leg back up, functioning even while what Mugman assumed was its’ creator wasn’t. He pulled a potion out of his pack, taking the leg and settling it down against the rest of him. It took the rest of the bottle that fixed his handle to repair the major damage, reattaching it but not fixing some of the heavier cracks. He ignored the sudden silence while he brought out another potion. A thick finger, easily as large as his thigh pushed his hand away.

“Kid, you have an all-powerful wish granter right here, what’s with the waste?” Mugman hummed, staring at a small scar on the finger right by his face.

“My caretaker warned me about wishing for things that didn’t need it. Besides, I’m not sure I should trust you to grant it properly, not with how the other gods have acted…” He paused, wondering if he offended the man.

“Oh! You’re the little bluebird my sister gushed about!”

“Sister?”

“Yes! Hilda! Er, the Goddess of Dreams.”

“Her! Oh…” Mugman shifted away, pooled soul liquid squishing against Djimmi’s flesh. The face he pulled made Djimmi pull one of his own.

“What a crack!” Beppi drew attention back to himself, prodding at the largest chip, finger seemingly trying to dig into the small holes letting soul liquid filter through Mugman’s body. Mugman hissed, slapping the hand away and pouring the potion over the crack. The porcelain child drank some down to expedite the healing process. Beppi gave him a nasty grin, up until Djimmi snapped his hand around, grabbed Beppi by the face, and floated over to the door.

“ _You_ are causing far more trouble than you’re worth. Go out and pester Bon Bon.” Beppi said something in a language Mugman didn’t know. Djimmi flushed a bright pink, sputtering in embarrassment as he tossed the clown out of his home. The door slammed shut as soon as the god passed it, but that did little to comfort Mugman.

“Normally,” Djimmi cleared his throat, catching Mugman’s attention. “My sister goes into dreams, finds desires in them, sends them to me, and I grant the wish if I deem it worthy. But, she didn’t find anything in you.” Djimmi shifted the child in his hand with his other pinky. “It’s been a century since I’ve been able to do _anything_ and I’m going stir-crazy, so if you could make a wish that doesn’t include top hats and Kahl’s glasses I’d be so thankful.” He had a pleading note in his voice, but Mugman wasn’t any less wary.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, forgive my suspicion but… your sister scared me. And I’ve almost died a few times.” Djimmi deflated, slouching until his forehead lightly tapped Mugman’s rim.

“Boy, I’m… I know… I know there’s something wrong with my sister, but… I promise she wasn’t always like that! I can’t fix it, I’ve tried, it’s… some of them think it was Devil that messed with them, but I know it wasn’t. I’m one of the best when it comes to magic and I got nothing out of digging around. I know I wasn’t the greatest in the past.” He paused, lost in thought for a worrying amount of seconds.

“I deserve your suspicion, I know I do, but…please… I’m supposed to grant wishes, make people happy, give them what they deserve. You’re a sweet kid, I can tell. It can be something entirely simple too! Just..”

“I wish I had a glass of water to drink?” Mugman’s hesitant request was instantly met by a bright smile, and a poof later, a clean glass of even cleaner water was in his hand. He let out a noise of surprised awe, blue eyes bright with amazement.

“Perfectly safe! From the oasis itself.” Mugman took a tiny sip, unsure just how safe it was. Djimmi didn’t seem to mind.

“Another one, it can be anything you want kid, aside from getting out of here… I can’t do that either, I tried.”

“Well, it’s not so much a wish as a request but… Why are you all stuck here? My caretaker was…sort of horrible fully explaining many things.” Djimmi nodded, still eager. He snapped, calling up a rug to float beside Mugman, depositing the boy on the carpet carefully. He turned, beginning to move towards the town in the distance, sands billowing out around him. Unseen by the boy, he brought his hand up, darting his tongue out to taste the soul liquid staining his palm.

“You see,” He started, swiping his tongue up to clean his hand off fully, “We gods were born to fulfill the wishes of our Domain’s. We’re all supposed to do whatever the Domain asks, because it’s usually something the Domain itself can’t do. Like, talk to mortals, or other gods, or handle situations. We all have our jobs, all have our designs, and our flaws.” The taste was sweet, reminding him of blueberries.

“Well now I don’t know what caused a lot of them to lose it, but we all sort of…well lost it. Poor Phantom got dragged down by his brat of a sister… It wasn’t pretty, but we all sort of went down around the same time. Give or take a few weeks. So now we’re all stuck here, some of us haven’t heard from our Domain’s in decades, but I’m sure that’s exclusive to the ones that angered their Domain’s. Mine still talks to me every once in a while, after all.” Djimmi guided the carpet to circle the town, letting the numerous voices drift up, keeping the awkward silence at bay.

“So…” Mugman rubbed at his fully repaired leg, setting down the drink.“It isn’t some strange curse?”

“No. Elder Kettle would have fixed that up if it was the case. Now, me, personally, I think they can be cured, me too. I did things I’m not too proud of in the past. Followed in the footsteps of some of the other wish granters, messed with the words to cause more harm than good. But kid… It’s been a _century_.” Djimmi turned, lowering himself so he was able to look at the child without forcing the boy to look up at him.

“I did things, sure, and I’d be more than glad to go out there and fix what I did if I could. It’s just… they…I thought they were insulting my sister. I couldn’t forgive that, so I wiped out an impressive number of people before being put here. Admittedly, the latter half of this was me having more fun with warping wish meanings than I should have…” Mugman, right before sipping the water again, froze, now eyeing the liquid.

“That was then, this is now, I want _out._ But you know what I want more? My sister back. My friends back. Beppi wasn’t always like that you know? Sure, he was dramatic, but he was harmless, just passionate for the performing arts. Hilda used to fend off nightmares in ways I couldn’t believe. Then she just started causing them.” Djimmi paused, the carpet obediently stopping a few feet away.

“They say time heals, and sure, we don’t have a time god out here, unless that was Elder’s brother…But, when she saw you, went into your dreams and all, I saw a bit of the old Hilda. She wants to see you again.”

“I… I’ve got to do something first, but then I’d be glad to talk to her again.”

“No.”

“What?”

“Ah, No, as in, you’re staying here, whatever you need, I can give with a simple wish, or a wave of my hand.”

“Mr. Djimmi. You said you wanted to help your sister right? My brother is the reason I’m here. He did something and I had to come here to find someone to fix it.”

“I—”

“One of _you_ did it to him. Elder Kettle was our Caretaker. My brother did something that… I _need_ to find someone that knows how to help. You said you can’t get me out of here, and this water came from that oasis, which means _you can’t help him._ ” Mugman stressed the last part, standing on the carpet now. Djimmi seemed surprised at the change, not expecting the demur child to shift so suddenly.

“He’s as important to me as your sister is, just let me go find someone, go help my brother, and—”

“Done.”

“What?”

“I can’t cure whatever happened to your brother, and that old God was tightlipped about his potions when talking to us. But I could give you the knowledge.”

“I don’t… it was this thing.” Mugman held out the book, showing the potion. The thing in him was fully alert now. It kept flickering in and out though, to the point Mugman wondered if the thing was just a hallucination brought on by the stress. But every time it came back, it told him to not let the Djinn into his head with a wish. Mugman hadn’t been planning on that anyway, he didn’t trust this god, and now he was vindicated in that lack of trust. Djimmi examined it briefly, struggling to try and remember where he’d seen it before.

“Kahl might know, but he’s on Isle Three, and far more dangerous than almost anyone else you’ll run into. No, you’ll stay here and wait. The second my sister is cured I swear I’ll guide you around myself, keep your little mortal soul safe and what have you.” Djimmi waved his hands casually, drifting away. Mugman paled, mind powering through the wave of fear coursing through him to find some method to get Djimmi to let him go.

Two arms wrapped around his waist, barely seen strings lazily swung into his peripheral vision, but the weight at his back kept him from moving. He still jumped, grabbing the arms and pressing at them.

“I read a little into your soul, Your brother… Cuphead? Yeah, well, Puphead here will be his replacement, maybe even better than your old brother! So you won’t feel lonely, and so I can go make sure Beppi hasn’t driven one of his stupid cars into my home… _again.”_ Mugman struggled to break the grip, soul growing cold with horror.

“Wait!” Djimmi ignored him, disappearing in a burst of white. Mugman slumped in the grip tight around him. The door was far below, locked most likely, the carpet was now moving, but not low enough for him to jump onto one of the buildings below and escape that way. And some _thing_ with wooden arms was hugging him like Cuphead after a nasty fall.

“Mugs?”

“Don’t.” Mugman snapped, not liking how the voice behind him sounded like his brother with a cold. Strained, like it was trying to sound normal, but couldn’t figure out how. He weakly shoved at the hands again, dropping to his knees as soon as the grip loosened.

“It ain’t that bad. You aren’t stuck here forever.”

“Puphead, are you afraid of anything?” Mugman’s voice hitched a few times, as the child forced back tears.

“Well...”

“My brother is. He isn’t fond of the dark. He doesn’t like being alone, and he can’t sleep without a goodnight hug. He...” Mugman sucked in a sharp breath, wiping the tears dripping down his cheeks angrily. “I didn’t hug him before he died, I’m not there right now, and I don’t know what the after life is like. For all I know it’s pitch black. He’s...” Mugman let out a sob, frustrated blue tinted tears flowing freely down his face. He couldn’t finish what he was saying, the sobs choking his words off before he even got the chance.

Two hands, clad in gloves, pulled his own gently away from his face. Mugman struggled weakly, barely putting any effort into his attempts to break free. The face that fell into his view wasn’t Cuphead’s, it almost looked like Cuphead, but then it had hints of Mugman, which, frankly just made Mugman hate Djimmi. But the smile on Puphead’s face was _warm_ , it was friendly, and it was somber.

“Hey… Hey now, don’t worry. Shhh.” Puphead pressed a finger to Mugman’s mouth, cutting off whatever Mugman was going to say. “Look, I’m one of Djimmi’s creations, right?” The carpet began to descend. “That’s right, come on, you’re smart, I know you are. He isn’t here right now, Beppi’s got his attention. Don’t cry.” Puphead cooed, wiping the tears away from watery blue eyes.

“Now, here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to knock on that door like so,” Puphead tapped a pattern onto Mugman’s palm, shifting until he was no longer kneeling in front of the porcelain child, but standing, pulling Mugman up with him. Mugman, confused, obeyed the light motion.

“Why?”

“He used your memories to put a bit of life into me… I may not be your brother, but I don’t like seeing you cry all the same. So, look, tap that pattern or it won’t open, then run. Don’t worry about anything else.” He ushered the dazed boy off the carpet, pushing him towards the exit. “Under better circumstances perhaps? I’ll see you again.”

Mugman pulled Puphead into a tight hug, whispering thanks into the painted-on shirt before turning and bolting for the door. Puphead silently watched him go, listening as his creator demanded Beppi stop ‘playing my pecs like bongo’s!’.

For the barest of seconds, Mugman’s shadow, stretched across the sands, flickered. Puphead frowned, feeling an icy shiver rattle his wooden frame. A single bright gold eye stared at him in the moment the shadow changed, but then it was gone once more, and Puphead was at a loss. Then he was remembering the nice hug, and feeling more envious of the true brother more than anything. Then again, if the brother never showed up, he’d be more than glad to take Cuphead’s place.

====-====-====-====

Mugman ran as fast as he could, as quietly as he could, unwilling to just blindly race off on the path. He found what looked and smelled like a bakery gone _off_ , and went in, fearing any of the deities around were hot on his heels. He didn’t know if Djimmi could just poof him back or whatever via magic. He didn’t have long to think about it though.

Not when he was crashing headfirst into thick skirts.

“Now just _what do you think you’re doing intruding on my home._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really, Djimmi messed up the second he made a doll to mimic the troublemaker brother. It was only a matter of when for how long it would take for Puphead to jack with Djimmi's half-baked plan. The better question is how will Cuphead take learning a god tried replacing him with a wooden weirdo?  
> Mugman is starting to lose it with all this stress. He's never been alone for so long though so...   
> At this point I'm just going to say, if you want to see romantic subtext in how deities interact, go ahead.


	10. Home's Kitchen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cuphead finds yet another deity, the castle defends once more, and Mugman continues trying his luck.

“Cuphead, why are you sleeping like that?” Cuphead whined, sleepily waving away the hands trying to pull him up. “Cuphead, I swear you do this because you want an excuse to be cranky.” The exasperation was almost tangible, but still Cuphead was relaxed, he wasn’t keen on moving just yet. “Brother, please, I need your help in the garden.” Finally, Cuphead stumbled to his feet, willing to help, but equally willing to stay asleep. He wasn’t sure why he was, normally it was Mugman that took forever in a day to wake up if he didn’t want to be awake. Something just seemed to be urging him to stay asleep a minute longer.

He was warm, though he’d been propped up against a wall. Not that he minded all that much, sometimes he’d be relaxing after finishing chores and would fall asleep where he sat. Normally Mugman would shift him so he could lay mostly flat on the couch or on a cushion, it seemed like this time, he hadn’t. Though, he found himself not minding knowing he’d have a few twinges here or there while walking. He was far more content to stay near his sibling. The house was warm, the fire audibly crackling away in the fireplace. Light from the morning sun filtered through open curtains. The sea far below washed over rocks smoothly. The radio played a new tune in the corner, beside the rocking chair.

He felt one hand wrap around his wrist, leading him through the house both brothers once ran around with blindfolds on to see if they could. Even half asleep, he could count each step, knew exactly when his brother was going to turn right, open the back door… except this time he turned left, towards the front door. Cuphead didn’t mind, thinking there was probably something needed for the garden out front.

“If it’s planting those snap dragons I’m telling you now… I’m making a smiley face out of them.” Bright laughter brought a smile to his face.

“Fine, but I get to pick what color the eyes are, now come on, you’ve got to get going if you want to have it done before the afternoon.” Cuphead opened his mouth to answer, but the taste on his tongue made him freeze, the hand warm around his wrist, let go. He blinked quickly, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes. The warmth from before vanished almost as fast as his vision returned. He found himself not in the house, not with his brother, and with phantom tingles on his wrist.

The fog, dense once more, rusted red, thick, smothered all sounds. The door to the die shaped house closed, cutting off the last hint of noise besides the sluggish river below. Cuphead leaned against the door heavily, staring off into the iron tinted distance. Then, a wave of determination forced out the sorrow threatening to bring him to his knees. He’d find his sibling. He’d fix the gods, he’d repair the Isles so they’d have no choice but to let him and Mugman go, and he’d do it all so quickly the Isles wouldn’t even know what hit them.

He glared out into the fog, like it had personally offended him, and really, considering it was the thing that woke him up, he felt like it _had_.

====-====-====-====

Unable to see his brother’s steps anymore, he was left to guess as to which direction Mugman had gone. His Domain helpfully informed him that Isle Two was far larger than Isle one, so Mugman could have gone any which direction. The problem was, Cuphead wasn’t sure how well he’d do stumbling around trying to find the path to the next Isle. He also had no idea how he was going to find any of the deities here, the fog seemed far more dense than Isle One’s. Still, pausing for any longer was a terrible idea, the area was already darker, with signs that the sun was going too low to provide any light through the clouds.

He eyed the decrepit trees, the rusted fences, and wondered just what he was about to face. Going to the right led him straight to a Ferris wheel, weak lights along its outer skeleton flickering on and off in the lower light. He took a harder look around, squinting to try and get a guess as to whether anyone was on it or not. He couldn’t see more than a fourth of the ride though, the fog proving to be too dense. Even the blips of colorful light became too obscured after what he guessed was the halfway point. He stared at the stones under his feet, mind piecing together the fact that for the second time in his life, he was at a carnival.

He almost felt cheated.

Almost, because he got the distinct feeling he was still going to have an adventure, even if it wasn’t a friendly one. Based on the rather freaky creaking noises the Ferris wheel was letting off, he also wondered if the thing was going to collapse on him at any second. He didn’t bother to think that the gods had even sort of tried maintaining the thing.

Then, there was a deep, ground shaking groan, directly behind him. He didn’t bother to turn around, leaping over the thin gate protecting the Ferris wheel, he raced for the nearest car. Diving through it, he only turned when the groan turned into a gurgling whine. Which was about when the Ferris wheel was between him and whatever the thing was.

Before him was what he dearly hoped was the first large being on these isles that wasn’t a God. It looked like a castle had a run in with one of the rides. The outer bricks were a moldy green, giving off waves of rot filled air so vile Cuphead wondered if he was finally going to learn if Porcelain beings could projectile vomit. It had one shriveled eye, cracked and warped as if sugar had been poured on it. The other was glassy, pupil blown wide. The gates acting as its mouth would creak up a few inches, then fall back down, the gears making a whining noise, unable to fight whatever rot was inside to continue functioning. Great portions of it were full of rusted out parts, sticking out in a painful mockery of a wing.

To Cuphead, from this distance, it appeared as if the thing had tried bolstering its rotting body with scraps it found laying about from previous rides. Or perhaps, not rides, but pieces of tents and train cars. He thought he saw crusted fabric draped over a particularly nasty looking spot towards its right side, but couldn’t be too sure. It stared at him as much as he stared at it. Then, after a few moments pause, it let out the most terrifying wailing shriek he’d ever heard in his life. It was if hundreds of tiny sirens were crackling at the same time. Warped and twisted more than the body it came from, it sent Cuphead sprinting for the right, racing away as fast as he could.

It tried to turn, to follow, hands scraping uselessly along the stones, slick with rusted water. Cuphead didn’t give it much chance to catch up, running for the next fenced in area he saw, which happened to house a roller coaster.

====-====-====-====

The cars squealed along the track, but Cuphead was more interested in getting to the top of the first hill, figuring if he got some height, the fog wouldn’t be as thick, and the castle thing would have a harder time finding him. He didn’t think it had much ability to look up.

“What’cha doing brother?”

Cuphead screamed, shoulders jerking up, feet slipping on one of the mushier boards across the gap of the track. He twisted, and before his mind even had a chance to recognize the familiar features of his brother, his Domain was pulling him along in a soul dive.

To say Cuphead was sick of people taking his brothers face was so much of an understatement, it was sad. He didn’t even need to see the true face of this god, he was just going to punch them on principle alone.  

‘ _Or, if you want to have fun, play along.’_

‘You and my brother should never meet.’

He watched the god, watched how they helped people learn various tricks and stunts to shock and awe observers. He saw the god call out friendly tips to ensure the performers didn’t mess up as much on the more intense stunts. Watched him break the leg of an acrobat, claiming they didn’t have the proper motivation to listen to him, so he’d give it to them. The bone breaks, the snapped rigs, the broken bodies, all piling up on various stages to the horror of those watching. He got the distinct impression this deity wasn’t going to believe the disguise he had on was less than perfect.

Shame Cuphead could see past parlor tricks.

A smile grew on Cuphead’s face. Had Mugman been the actual Mugman, he’d have immediately found the nearest exit to launch himself out of.

It wasn’t, so the false Mugman only saw a bright, chipper smile.

“Gosh, there you are!” Cuphead threw his arms around the other, lifting him up with his new strength. The deity, he guessed Beppi, based on the outfit the memories had been wearing. “Gee, do you know what I’ve gone through trying to find you?” Cuphead paced a little, not letting the deity escape his hold. “I tell you what, this place is downright _bland_. There was a flower that tried eating me I think, but that was as exciting as it got.” He swung the smaller figure around, unseen barbarous grin growing further as the castle he’d run from came closer and closer below them.

“Well, it hasn’t been much fun for me either.” Beppi, Cuphead decided, was just as terrible at pretending to be Mugman as the others. He’d give Beppi one thing, and that was the way he mimicked Mugman’s mannerisms. The voice though, the voice was all wrong.

“Anyway, it’s great to see you aren’t dead! I had a bit of a scare a little bit ago, got it cleared up, watched a blob thing punch a couple of frogs, so I’m not bored! How was that by the by? I know they hurt you but…” He put Beppi/Mugman down, letting the god sweat and try to figure out where that injury would have been.  Beppi rubbed his thigh, and both Cuphead and his Domain decided their plan was indeed the best one.

“It’s fine now, those potions I brought did the job.” Cuphead nodded sagely, listening to the castle weakly reach upwards towards them.

“That’s real great, I don’t know what I’d do if someone hurt you…well actually I do, that’s a lie, I really do know. Wanna know?” He leaned in, soul liquid sloshing, straw sliding, Beppi’s temporary face pinched.

“Uh..”

“Got a suggestion for you.” Cuphead grabbed Beppi’s wrists, stepping back slowly, confusing the clown more and more. “If you’re going to play pretend, pick your target better.” He twisted, throwing the startled fake clear off the track. Then opened fire, nailing his false brother in the chest. Beppi, returning to his true form, fell all the way down into the castles waiting maw. The castle shuddered, blinked a sluggish blink, then settled, closing its eyes. Cuphead didn’t waste the chance to slide down the rusted rails, sprint past the dormant castle, and run for the odd pyramid building he caught sight of down the path.

‘I hope those shots are enough of whatever it is you do.’

_‘We. It is judgement we shoot them with. All of their sins, all of their actions, when the bullet hits them, those all come out and affect them three-fold. That man, god or no, is about to experience countless broken bones, and whatever else he has done. So it was with the others we have it. It will continue affecting them until they realize their faults and devote themselves to fixing their mistakes.’_

‘So…’

_‘If you shot our Scale it would have no effect. But to these corrupted gods, it might as well be a death sentence. Or rather, they will wish it killed them.’_

Cuphead nodded absentmindedly, glad to know he wasn’t just leaving angry gods that would come after him later. He wondered if the shot was faster than being devoured, but decided he didn’t quite care as long as they weren’t going to be a threat later. Figuring the pyramid was a safe bet for where he should go next, he wandered in.

‘Still, I’m getting sick of these people trying to pretend to be my brother.’

====-====-====-====

Mugman squirmed under the tight grip the lanky, well dressed woman had on his handle. He’d tried to leave as quickly as he’d entered but she was having none of it. Her noble features were pristine, not a spot of make-up out of place.

“Strolling in like you own the place, I swear, you mortals are all the same, even years later.” She ranted, forcing him to follow her as she strode through what he supposed was her house. “And just look how scruffy you are! All filthy like you were rolling around in dirt, not a single offering to me…rude is what you are.”

“I tried to leave!” She turned her head, vivid gold eye glinting malice at him. He glared back, tired, frazzled, and constantly nervous did not make for a happy blue child. She rolled her eyes.

“Boy, you entered my home. It’s your fault you’re stuck here now.”

“What? What is it with you gods and trapping mortals? It’s getting old!”

“Excuse you?” She let him go, causing him to stumble before he was pushed onto a fur covered couch. “I’m not trapping you, I’m simply keeping you until a proper reason for your arrival is given. I protect homes, I defend them while owners rest or leave temporarily, or too weak. I also cook, but I know your type. You lot wouldn’t know a wisk from a spatula.”

Indeed, Mugman didn’t know what a wisk was, or a spatula. But he _did_ have an idea, he just hoped it would work.

“So, I have to do something to get you to let me go?”

“Exactly, give and take, thus far you’ve taken my time.”

“Well, I need to find someone that knows about potions, and how to cure a specific one. I don’t have anything to offer you, but I’ll have you know that while being raised, there was _nothing_ to do. I have many skills because of that, cooking included.” It wasn’t included, Elder Kettle didn’t bother to stock the kitchen with any food, and the boys were told they couldn’t eat anything in the garden Mugman grew simply because Elder Kettle used the plants and food for potion ingredients. This woman didn’t need to know that. He hoped she never would.  All he had to do was get her distracted long enough for him to escape.

“Oh? Anything else you want to brag about?” She pursed her lips, putting her weight to one leg, amusement in every inch of her figure.

“Exactly, my brother loves climbing, so I learned how to sew, but—"

“Too slow. I’ll tell you what, _boy_. If you cook me something good, I’ll let you go. It likely won’t be something grand like I used to get, but that’s fine, children rarely have riches unless stolen or borrowed.”

“Boring.” He replied, getting back on his feet, adopting her exact stance. “You’ve probably seen hundreds of people cook, but what about a battle of food?” Mugman had no idea what he was doing, but the fact that she looked interested was all he needed to keep going. “A food battle? We each cook something, and if I match up to your tastes enough, you let me go Ms…” He hoped that she’d get so into her cooking she’d forget he was there, either that or he’d mess up enough to reenact the time Cuphead made the oven set half their house on fire.

The woman gained a particularly nasty grin, bloodthirsty and brutal.

“Name’s Baroness von Bon Bon, Goddess of Hearth and Home. It’s a deal.” She shrugged off her golden shawl, poofed an apron to cover her neat clothing, and motioned for him to follow her to her grand kitchen. He paled, unable to even see over the counters. She paused, noting the problem almost immediately, and before he knew it she had her hands around his waist, and was lifting him up to the sink.

“Either change your gloves or wash your hands, no one cooks in this kitchen looking like Cagney spat them out.” She clicked her heel on the floor a few times, calling for someone to bring a stool the boy could use.

Mugman looked entirely out of place in her marble and gold kitchen, but, she thought the look of determination he had was adorable. Even if she could see shoe marks where he’d walked, ruining her antique rugs. He dutifully washed his hands, wiping the grime off for the first time since he’d arrived.

He mourned the fact that he could see a clear line where the fog had marred his clean porcelain. There was grey and red draining into the sink with every scrape of his hands. He didn’t think he’d ever be clean for as long as he was here, but for now, his shirt was rolled up, his gloves were resting on the side of the sink, and his hands were spotless. He looked at her, waiting for her next order. Bon Bon forgot how weak she was to children, or rather, how weak she _had_ been.

“Well, I have enough ovens for the both of us, enough knives, so I suppose we shall simply start at the same time. We shall have an hour to create our dish, it can be whatever you choose. If you find yourself needing a lift to reach something, just speak up.”

He nodded, internally screaming into a void. With a clap, the battle began. He went for the first thing he recognized, cherries, grabbed a bowl from one of the cupboards, and proceeded to wing it.

====-====-====-====

“No! You utter walnut! That’s not how you use a paring knife!”

“Well maybe not how _you_ use it.”

“…”

====-====-====-====

“Oh for the mercy of all, _don’t hold a pan like that._ ”

“I’ll have you know that’s how I always hold it.”

“You hold pans by the pan part, and not the handle, all the time?”

“…yes.”

“Oh mercy…”

====-====-====-====

“Um, Ms. Baroness? Your curtains are on fire… sorry.”

“ _What? You pathetic donkey, how did you mess up something even a kid could understand?!”_

“I _am_ a kid!”

Baroness stared at him for a few quiet seconds, jelly bean servants dragging a bucket of water over her feet. She wordlessly threw the bucket at her silk curtains, watching the blue blush flush across the child’s cheeks. Somehow, she couldn’t find the anger she was so used to calling up.

“What were you trying to do.” She ultimately went with a question instead, her Domain stirring somewhere deep within her soul.

“Uh, make the chicken less likely to cluck on the plate?”

“Ah.” She left her own pan on the stove, it had to cook down anyway.

====-====-====-====

“I’m only showing you this _one time._ So pay close attention.”

“Okay.” He watched her cut the apple into neat cubes, smaller hands trying to mimic her professional motions with a knife just a tad too big for him. She almost laughed when she caught sight of his tongue peeking out, but didn’t want to break his concentration.

====-====-====-====

“How do you make a pie?”

“A pie? What sort?”

“With these things.”

“A citrus pie then? Grab the flour beside you.”

“Can we add cherries to it?”

“Sure.”

====-====-====-====

“I think the sauce is a bit salty.”

“So? How would we combat salt?”

“No less than two deep breaths and a visit to the well of patience?”

Baroness laughed, putting her knife down before she cut herself. The innocent smile he wore kept the amusement curling in her soul growing. Her Domain whispered to her, urging her to get him to bring up a fourth dish for them to bake. She agreed with it, entirely forgetting how it had been over a century since her Domain had even spoken more than a sentence to her. Of course, she’d also forgotten what it was like to just not care about the reason for the company, only that she had the good kind

“What else do you think would go with cherries? Shall we try another meat?” He examined the well-stocked kitchen, noticing how it never seemed to run out of ingredients. Pointing to a deep red meat, he picked it more because it wasn’t chicken than anything else.

“Venison it is. Wash that knife off for me, and I’ll show you how to sauté.” The excited grin across his face matched hers.

====-====-====-====

“And I don’t know how he did it, but one second I’m being lectured by Elder Kettle, the next, I’m wondering why Elder Kettle is blowing steam out his nose. I turn around and there’s Cuphead, standing where the kitchen used to be.” Baroness let out a powerful snort, followed by strong laughter.

“He said he just wanted to have hot water instead of cold, but there wasn’t a single pan near the stove! I had to get the potions to fix all the cracks my brother got from the blast while Elder Kettle fixed what he could. We’re just lucky he was actually there for it.”

She paused, not exactly happy to know the only Deity not trapped had done such a poor job with raising a darling child. Sure, she didn’t know what the other brother was like, but this one, currently tasting the thick blueberry-cherry sauce, was such a treat.

“So that’s what blueberry tastes like!”

“You…don’t…try the things you make?” She felt a full body twitch upon the nod she received. To her, this meant Elder Kettle had starved his charges of the joys of her Domain. Her Domain readily agreed. She knew he couldn’t eat solid foods, but, she was damn sure he could drink smoothies and eat ice creams. It was then that she vowed that he wasn’t leaving until they created a truly magnificent drink to make up for twelve years of bland water.

He watched her retie her apron, adjust her gloves, and pin him with a fiery gaze he’d only seen when watching other people interact with their children the few times the boys left the house for civilization.

====-====-====-====

“I’m so sorry I can’t help you with this…” She wished potions fell under her Domain, but the magic that went into them was simply too different from the spices she put in her food. He didn’t seem too put out by her lack of knowledge, but he was also drinking a chocolate malt shake. She vowed if she ever got off the Isles, the first thing she’d do is shove her shotgun reserved for defending homes down Elder Kettle’s throat and pull the trigger.

“That wish god mentioned that a Kahl might know, but he’s on Isle Three?”

“He is, you’d have to head up towards Wally’s hut first, then make a right, past my brother’s tower, and down that way would be the bridge to Isle Three. But, well Kahl isn’t exactly the best for a mortal like you to interact with. I’d try Rumor first.” She brushed off the sleeve of the shirt she’d given him after his had been drenched in water thanks to the jelly bean servants tripping. She’d gotten him to clean off in her bathroom while she’d taken in all the new dishes steaming away on her counters.

He looked even smaller in the not so perfectly tailored shirt and shorts, but he was clearly comfortable, and it was better than the other shirt he was about to pull out. The exact replica of the dirty shirt he’d had one, she almost wasn’t surprised the boy had been given such plain clothing considering Elder Kettle didn’t even much besides shorts and shoes.

“Well, my brother isn’t going to get better by himself. Thank you, Ms. Baroness!” He hugged her, frail little arms thinner than hers or Hilda’s barely reaching around her thick skirt. She ducked down, kissing his forehead.

“My brother is out around here somewhere, he’s been a bit odd as of late, but he’s the God of Travelers and Fire, he’ll surely keep you safe if he spots you.” She ushered him out, promising to share the food with the others, so it wouldn’t go to waste.

It would be two days and a half when she remembered that her brother hadn’t been _odd_ but _gluttonous_. She’d seen him devour no less than half an army to sate his hunger at some point. He’d burned the rest of the army to a crisp. And she’d sent a tiny, young child out where Beppi liked to roam. Her castle, a victim of Kahl and time, even had a bite out of it thanks to Grim. Pink face paling considerably, she just about tore her house apart searching for the stuff she’d need to do what her brother wouldn’t.

====-====-====-====

Mugman, full up with sweet chocolate, clean for the first time on the Isles, energy renewed, pressed on to where Baroness had directed him. As he got closer to the edge of the Isle, having to pass shredded tents and the remains of a quartet clacking limp bodies together like macabre wind chimes, the wind picked up. He pointedly ignored the shredded bodies, unwilling to think of how a metal being would have been shredded into a spiral.

Past the tent, past the realistic statue of a young candy girl, and towards the bridge described to him. He hoped that the less noise he made the less likely whatever was in the massive birdhouse would notice him. As it was with all other attempts to avoid confrontation though, what he hoped didn’t work. A lone bird skeleton chirped at him. He stared at it, shaking his head slowly, silently begging it to not alert the birdhouse.

The bird, what species he didn’t know but he was calling it the nark-bird, didn’t take pity.

A massive blue and red feathered bird struck the ground right in front of the rainbow bridge. He tried to move back, only for the bird to grab him up by his shirt. He dangled from its mouth like a kitten, knees curled up to his chest, arms tucked in, holding his bag, debating whether it was worth losing the shirt so soon. The bird wobbled towards the house, the door opening without anyone moving it that he could see.

The house, cracked paint, rotted wood, slanted roof, was surprisingly roomy inside. There were a few nests scattered here or there. The bones sticking out from the grass made him grimace, but otherwise he remained silent, unsure of just what he was getting into. He was dropped down next to a half-decayed pile of bird eggs the size of his head. Mugman wasn’t breathing, he’d learned after the last few times. He also didn’t think this would be the last time something like this happened. He idly wondered, while the bird shuffled around a bit, moving equally rancid nests to the corners, how his brother would handle all the grabbiness.

He got the distinct picture of his brother biting or kicking the nearest extremity, the laugh he stifled eased some of his worry. But not enough to lose focus of the bird now observing him.

“Hello…baby bird.” The apparent god’s voice was scratchy, whistles interspersed his speech. Mugman didn’t wave, but he did slowly point to himself, looking for any actual baby birds. The large one nodded jerkily, neck cracking with every snap. Mugman wasn’t sure how healthy that was, but the chances of him being worried for this deity’s health dwindled with each heavy breath it took as it stood above him. The piles of grass, dried, festering with things Mugman didn’t even know how to describe beyond green and twitchy, kept drawing the child’s eye.

“I saw you…floating in…unassisted. No sail, but…” Mugman couldn’t help but notice the stains around the blackened beak, he almost leaned away, but the tacky feeling of his current seat deterred that motion. “You are young, correct?”

“Yes?” He swore if Elder Kettle had forgotten to inform him of a god that ate the souls of children he was going to haunt the man. He bet Cuphead would be all for joining in. The bird seemed pleased by his answer. Bobbing his head towards a hatch in the roof, the birds gaze remained on him.

“I would have drowned you. A storm… but… You are young. My boy…” He paused, eyes glazing over. Mugman clutched the strap of his bag tightly. “He…my little Wally Jr. is _lonely_. We have tried a few playmates…before. They didn’t…” He paused again, but this time, it was to start heaving. Wheezing, rattling breaths, sending feathers scattering around, shaking his heavy frame. Three great half screeches later, steaming bones, partially dissolved in stomach acid slid out of the bird’s beak. Mugman couldn’t even find it in himself to be grossed out. He just watched the splatter sizzle against the stained wooden floor.

The fact that the rust fog kept any decent light from illuminating the true state of everything was a blessing by now.

“You have a son? I didn’t…know gods could have children?” Mugman had the sinking feeling that distraction would be less effective with this one. The thing giving broken whispers in his mind agreed. He’d be better off waiting for a lapse in attention.

“I had him before…made a wish… Djimmi.” Mugman had never seen someone’s face warp from dazed to deadly so quickly. The god had a surprisingly demonic sneer on his beak, which intrigued Mugman, since he didn’t think a beak could look like that. “ _He hurt my boy. Changed him. I just wanted him immortal like me.”_

“Oh.” Really, what else was Mugman going to say? The god made worrying growling noises, and it was at that moment Mugman wondered how fast the bird really was. He’d gladly take swimming in those rivers if it meant avoiding this deity. The door above him rattled. The god froze, almost melting into a proud puddle as what Mugman guessed was his son made an appearance.

Mugman paled. But even his ill countenance couldn’t match Wally Jr.’s festering skeleton. Dry patches of flesh, mottled and cracked, dripped and dragged on the floor, the little body weakly stumbling until it leaned on the God’s spindly leg. There were no eyes, but embedded in the bird’s back were wires wrapped around the twisted spine.

There were skulls under Mugman. Each had scratch marks, from nails, or, claws. The blue child didn’t let his face show a single emotion.

“Wally Jr. I have…a new playmate for you.” The baby bird shrieked, torn vocal cords vibrating with his cry. Mugman counted to ten. “He’s…tiny. Harmless I think. Can’t you smell it? In his soul.” Wally Jr. shrieked again, longer this time. “His soul…so easy to…” The two birds paused, in the second they glanced at each other, the little playmate had vanished. Confused, both of their heads tilted.

Meanwhile, out the window, Mugman silently lavished thanks to his past self for running instead of climbing. He hurled one of the bones he’d taken from the nest at the nark-bird, ran past it as it fell, and continued up until he crossed the rainbow bridge. He heard a great commotion behind him, likely the birds coming out of the house, so he threw himself into the odd-looking building set in the mountainside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baroness and Gordon Ramsay would get along so well i bet.   
> Hope you lot are enjoying this, since... I have no idea what the general consensus seems to be on it. No one has complained yet, so I guess that's something to celebrate.   
> Writing it is fun anyway, oh well.  
> Elder Kettle's getting a list of enemies, but then, he's always had one considering he got out of the punishment he helped set up. I wonder if he can get any worse!


	11. Feed Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cuphead takes a page from his brother, and Mugman has Cuphead like thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be going away for a while. This will be the last update until December. I'm sorry I couldn't finish this before I had to go.  
> I also drew references for the boys! Or rather, one current reference and one future reference. 
> 
> https://ephemeralmuse.tumblr.com/post/178997726220/look-i-just-wanted-to-draw-a-reference-for-my
> 
> I swear, designing outfits has never been my strong suit. nor has coloring linen been one. If anyone has any tips or what have you, when i get back, I'd be more than glad to hear them.

Cuphead, listening to his Domain mutter about particularly gruesome actions, pulled at the linen dangling from his handle. He didn’t much care to know more about Cagney, he wanted to know as little as possible really. None of the gods thus far deserved any of the worship they’d once gotten, at least not in his mind. He knew they used to be different, but the fact that they fell so hard told him all he needed to know about them. He wasn’t particularly excited to take on another deity without the watery place available. But, he’d survived thus far even without it readily accessible.

‘Will I get faster at… fixing faults? Or whatever you called it?’

‘ _No. Sins are not easy to undo. Some will simply go faster than others. This one is almost done, if that is what you are worried about.’_

‘I wish they’d thank us for fixing them.’

‘ _I do not. I would rather they not make it so we have to do this in the first place, now focus.’_

Cuphead obeyed, wishing he had pockets to stick his hands into as he observed the vast sandy region. He was even less pleased to know whoever was in here could manipulate reality. He’d never been good with illusions. Then he spotted the deity, who was staring at him from above. He waved, figuring if things were about to get weird, he might as well throw the first punch. The god waved back, floating down, eyeing him like he was an interesting bug.

“Let me guess, You’re that other one’s brother.”

“Correct! My turn, you hold the record for world’s worst sunburn.”

“Ha… I liked the mortal one better.” The god floated away a few inches, keeping well out of reach of Cuphead. Which was fair, Cuphead was fairly certain if he heard one more deity rudely decide Mugman was better simply because Mugman likely hadn’t shown them just how bad he could be, Cuphead was going to give them a more legitimate reason to pick his less aggressive brother. It was about the time Cuphead was eyeing Djimmi’s crossed shins that Cuphead’s Domain took a peek into Djimmi’s sins.

Cuphead wasn’t even interested. At this point he didn’t think he’d ever be able to see a corpse as anything scary or gross anymore. Up until he saw Djimmi hear someone wish to be as beautiful outside as they are on the inside, to which, Djimmi turned them inside out. He almost gagged. His face must have pinched in if Djimmi’s answering eyebrow arch was anything to go by. Cuphead didn’t particularly care though. He was busier watching Djimmi go from gleefully granting wishes in amazing ways to granting them in amazingly horrible ways.

“I like none of you thus far. Maybe the blob guy, but only because he punched things. And the castle.”

“The…That’s not a god. That’s Creampuff, Bon Bon’s former…why am I even bothering. Look, kid, my sister, Hilda, hasn’t responded to any of my calls. You wouldn’t happen to know _why?_ ” Cuphead figured Djimmi was trying to fluff himself up to appear intimidating, but frankly, all he cared about was the fact that he was seeing his brother’s leg get snapped by the guy in front of him. The only reason he didn’t react fully to it was because he knew that was accidental. Mugman always had been a tad more fragile than him.

“Oh her?” Cuphead scratched at his handle, plucking at the linen around his arm. “Yeah, we had a disagreement. She wanted to keep me, and I didn’t like that.”

“You did something to her.”

“No, she did something to herself, _I_ didn’t tell her to pretend to be my Domain. Besides, consider it revenge for you breaking my brother’s leg.”

“How did..” Djimmi squinted at him, observing him closer, as if trying to get a better read on the new god before him. Cuphead started scraping at bits of dirt stuck to his hands.

“You’ve got a new Domain then, something that deals with knowing the past of others. Now come on, it’s rude to not share what you’re god of.”

“Is it? Eh. I always thought you gods worked on equal exchanges and all that. Thus far you haven’t done anything but act tough.” Cuphead projected as much dispassionate care as he could, he didn’t think this one deserved any of his other acts.

“Djimmi, I grant wishes, you messed up my sister, but I did break your brother’s leg. As long as she comes back, I’ll call us even.” Djimmi returned the favor, his tone just as dispassionate as Cuphead’s everything. Cuphead nodded, figuring this god would have gone after him by now, pushed aside the other sins his Domain was trying to show him in favor of responding.

“Cuphead, pretty sure I judge things, I also eat things, don’t ask me how.”

“I thought I sensed two Domain’s.” Djimmi appeared like he really truly wanted to know how Cuphead did it, but Cuphead was neither willing nor knowledgeable enough to tell him. He recalled that Elder Kettle said many of the Domain’s actions became instinct for Gods, so he figured it was pretty much like that for him. His Domain didn’t bother answering, too busy putting the finishing touches on the fully reset deity in its belly.

“Really I’m just here to see if you’re going to be a problem when I finally get to my brother and get him out of here.” Cuphead played with the bands around his wrists, liking how the gold shone in the fake sunlight. Djimmi scoffed.

“I was tempted to see about locking you up, get your brother to return, but that’s far too much effort, besides, I’d sooner be serenaded by my newest creation.” Djimmi lazily gestured to a small figure leaning lifelessly on a nearby pyramid. Cuphead only had to glance for a second to see something an unknown part of himself _loathed_.

“That…looks an awful lot like you took my brother and I and mashed us up.”

“I figured he could act as a replacement for you, I forgot he’d get some of the traits I pulled from his memories of you.” Djimmi shrugged, not feeling the heavy hostile glare from the new god’s direction.

“You tried to replace me?” Cuphead couldn’t figure out just why that angered him so much. He thought he’d have found it funny considering it had clearly backfired, but the idea of someone trying to replace him, put a fake in his place next to his only family, had him seeing red. The feather on his back tingled, his Domain let out a hissing laugh.

“Well it didn’t work, besides, I figured you were dead if your brother was here. Tiny thing like that, there’s no way he’d voluntarily come here unless something dear to him needed a gods touch.” Djimmi felt a shiver roll down his spine, perturbed, he glanced at the new deity. Then he realized what he’d just thought, and gave an awkward half laugh. “Uh, by that, I mean, I figured a fake version of you could keep him company! Until you got here! Because obviously, you weren’t dead…” Djimmi coughed, the demonic gleam in Cuphead’s eyes only intensifying.

It had been centuries since Djimmi had to deal with new deities, so he couldn’t exactly fault himself for forgetting just how possessive new deities were with their sibling. He couldn’t recall a pair ever having one mortal and one immortal, which couldn’t make things any better. If anything, he was about to see just how the child ate things.

Instead of violence, there was an odd twitch that came over the boy’s face, and his expression smoothed into a neutral one. The feather glowed so brightly on his back it blazed brighter than the false sun.

“Why are you here?” Cuphead asked, voice as neutral as his face.

“I…” Djimmi paused, unsure as to where this was going. “I fell under Corruption, at least that’s what it was called by the others. I didn’t do as my Domain wanted and was punished by my victims.” He summarized, scratching the back of his head. He subconsciously floated just a few more inches away, willing the sands to pull the puppet under. There were flakes of gold appearing in the boy’s eyes.

“That, and?” The straw slid along the golden rim of his head as he tilted it.

“And…I have no clue?”

“Oh it’s easy, are you sure you don’t know?” Cuphead’s manner of speaking lacked any playful warmth, it was just cold.

“I…did a lot of damage to mortals? I mean, it isn’t exactly my fault there, I didn’t—”

“Listen. You didn’t listen. None of you gods knows how to use your sense of hearing. It’s almost amazing! You talk big, you act like you’re sorry, but you aren’t. When given the chance to fix your mistakes, what do you do? Try and trap him with that fake just so you can help another god.” Cuphead spoke harshly, giving Djimmi little room to rebuke any of the statements being shoved down his throat. Djimmi almost wished Beppi was waiting in the wings, at the very least he’d get away from the fully gold glare on the gods’ face.

“You say you want to make amends, you say you want to fix your mistakes, but you just keep making more! You know what’s the worst part?” Though the question was rhetorical, Djimmi couldn’t help but nod, not liking how it felt like something was carving into his soul, peeling away all of his mistakes to present on a gilded platter to him.

“You have had plenty of time to _go see your sister and you haven’t.”_ Cuphead hissed. “What kinda brother just leaves they’re ailing sibling alone!” His fists clenched, feather still gleaming brilliantly on his back, casting a monstrous shadow. “I’m here, because my brother put his life on the line to try and save me. He thinks I’m still dead, and for all I know, he could be trapped in some stupid cage getting prodded or dressed up like a trophy for one of you demented deities. Do you see me just sitting around moping?” Djimmi once again shook his head, far more weakly than the last time.

“Go see her! Instead of trying to keep a twelve-year-old to appease your sister or why ever you did it, go see her! You know she fell, you _know_ she went wrong! I swear I’m getting sick of you loons whining about your lot in life, blaming it on everyone but yourselves. ‘Oh woe is me, I’m an all powerful god who can grant wishes and float because of all the hot air in me but gee, I’ve got nothing better to do for a century but mope,’” Cuphead pressed the back of his hand to his forehead, closing his eyes until just a sliver of gold was visible. Djimmi winced, the shadow gazed at him, gleaming eyes gleefully dredging up memories of the many years he spent avoiding his sister.

“But, Hilda’s the reason I’m here! I thought people were insulting her!” Djimmi tried, he didn’t want to think he was _still_ not understanding just why his Domain refused to even bother with him much anymore. He didn’t want to think he was like Cagney, or Cala. Or really any of his fellow deities he could think of.

“Ugh!” Cuphead’s eyes returned to the deep cherry red they were originally. He threw his hands in the air, glaring at Djimmi.

“She didn’t tell you to defend her honor or whatever! That was all you! I didn’t tell Mugman to come here, Mugman didn’t force me to chug that stupid potion! I’m _twelve_. Twelve! I’m probably not even an eighth of your age and I understand taking responsibility! This is just… Go see her, see if you can’t help her or whatever… Such an embarrassment. How does Mugs even do this stupid ‘talk it out’ thing?” Cuphead muttered under his breath, ignoring how it was still audible in the echoey building as he turned on his heel and stormed out.

Djimmi remained behind, listening to the sands around him shift back into place, obscuring the child’s footsteps.

====-====-=====-====

Mugman carefully peeked out from the doorway of his temporary safe haven. Though he didn’t see Wally, he certainly heard the wing beats. Letting out a wobbly sigh, he turned to see just where he’d run into. It was pitch black, not a spot of light outside the faint amount spilling in through the doorway. It also smelled musty, and of rot. He wasn’t sure if he truly had picked a better place to be. Then again, he supposed every Deity was a bonafide bone collector. Based on how often he found bodies in the homes of gods that is.

He pulled out his lighter, though it wouldn’t really do much to illuminate anything, it was still better than nothing. The daylight outside was diminishing, so the building was even darker than Elder Kettle’s old home. He grimaced when his gloves slipped a few times on the trigger, not particularly interested in staying in the dark until nightfall or until Wally gave up. His glove finally caught, and with a sharp click, a dim golden glow filled the place.

Right in front of him, previously hidden in the shadows, was a pale face. Hollow eye sockets, mouth turned down in a hard frown, two hands easing through the shadows towards his own face. He just about threw the lighter at the person, instead, stumbling away. His arms were grabbed by something that had gotten behind him. As the room grew brighter, torches lighting themselves with a cold blue flame, he turned to see just what had ahold of him.

A mottled green face, jaw half hanging open, rotted teeth set in blackened gums, sat a mere breath away. It didn’t have a nose, instead just a gaping hole where the skull of a rat could be seen peeking out of, but if the nose had been there, it would have been touching Mugman’s forehead. The tongue still in the mouth, chewed to a stump, wiggled uselessly in place.

Mugman, mind stuck in a series of endless screams, reached into his bag, pulled a pack of breath mints he’d scavenged from Elder Kettle at some point, and tossed two into the things mouth. It reared back, fingers squelching against his previously clean shirt, bits of black blood flaking off onto the fabric. It let him go, pulling away as the first face grew closer.

“Oh, pardon me, I didn’t mean to frighten you…child.” The woman spoke, her voice suspiciously gentle. Mugman didn’t quite hear her, still internally screaming.

She reached her hands out once more, and though Mugman didn’t want them anywhere near him, his only other option was returning to the dead guy chewing on mints. Still, he winced, pulling away enough to make it clear he rather she didn’t touch him. She hummed, eyes now present, going half lidded, mouth curling up in a tight smile.

“Dear me, surely I can’t be that frightening. Right?” She tilted her head, her lips barely moving to let the words slip out. Mugman said the first thing that came to mind.

“Did you know opossums aren’t rodents?” He swore he would always hold a grudge on Elder Kettle for giving them random pieces of useless information. She _did_ pause though, if only to give him a less creepy and more confused frown.

“Did you know a rats’ teeth never stop growing?” The confusion only grew, but he was too panicked to care. He wasn’t sure why his panicked mind decided that spitting out random facts was the thing to do, but he had no real ability to think about it at the moment.

“There’s a lizard that squirts blood out of its’ eyes. A decapitated cockroach can still wiggle its antennae, proving that taking a second swing isn’t a waste of effort no matter what family says.” She pressed a lone finger to his lips, shushing him.

“Hush, a lizard of a far greater size… _prowls_.” She was far too close for Mugman’s comfort, the rim of her head tapping lightly on his. Behind them, heavy footsteps made their way closer to the tomb. Mugman snapped his mouth shut, tilting his head away. She followed his motion with her finger, forcing his head closer to hers.

“Wouldn’t want that one to ruin the fun would we?” She teased, giving him a closed, coy smile.

“Salt water takes ten minutes to drown a person.”

She grimaced, moving away, letting him see more of the now lit environment. Dust heavily coated every surface. The stones keeping bodies tucked away were cracked, broken, sludge long since dried running down the marble, staining the white stone a streaked black. He thought he saw pieces of flesh solidified in some of the slime trails, but his mind was still fried, and the thudding outside wasn’t much help. He clutched the strap to his backpack tightly, using his peripheral vision to keep the four bodies upright and out of their resting places in view. The one behind him gave a bubbly groan.

“Odd.” She said, her golden rim glittering in the blue light. “But delaying as well, and I’ve no time for that. Tell me child. “ She floated closer, her pale, misty blue figure brushing across the floor without stirring a single bit of dust. “Do you know about your own kind? Us? How… easy… it is to..” Her fingers lightly tapped against his cheek, her other hand sliding up along the side of his face.

“Pail Capone currently owns the nearest city.” Mugman weakly remarked, voice shaking. Her brows furrowed, but her hand didn’t stop its path to his straw.

“We last _so long_.” She said instead. “So, very long, but we’re so fragile.”

“Bodies decompose faster in water than on land.”

She pursed her lips, closed her eyes, turned her head away a bit, as if going into an internal debate. Mugman would have taken that chance to run, but she had her hands on his face, she’d know if he tried to bolt. Then he felt a finger dip into his soul liquid, and he tossed aside the idea of keeping his arms close, shoving her back with a harsh push. She breezed back, tapping the wet finger to her painted red lips experimentally.  Licking the soul liquid off, she hummed, ignoring the way Mugman blanched.

“How sweet! It’s so wonderful you’ll be my most recent addition. With no train to take you away, your restless, sweet little soul will stay here. Though, you’ve already got a bit of death on you.” She cooed, dragging a black tongue across her lips. He took a step back, right into the arms of the dead person behind him. It lurched forward under the sudden weight, tar like fluids dripping into Mugman’s soul liquid. He shrieked, staggering away from it, already feeling his soul curdle around the intruding sludge. He fell into the waiting arms of another corpse.

 The footsteps outside grew louder.

“Oh such a shame! I wanted to play a bit more before showing you a thing I bet you didn’t know,” The woman pressed her fingers to her cheeks mockingly. He pried at the hands locked around his arm and handle, even as he felt the unwanted sludge pool into his mouth as his soul tried to cleanse itself of the rot. It tasted like nothing he’d ever had before, pure, chunky rot slowly oozing down until it hit his teeth, burning his tongue with the acrid taste of decay.

“Don’t you worry, removing the soul from our type is by far less painful than it is for most other sorts!” She sounded cheerful, clapping a couple times, seemingly getting a kick out of watching him gag and choke. “You know, it’s been a long while since I removed one of you ungrateful mortals from that thing you covet so much.” Focused on the child hacking out rot, she didn’t notice how the fog had turned to steam, the air heating up as more of the steam wafted into the building.

“Always whining about not wanting to die, but then running to my brother when you do! Like I’m the worst part of death! As if ensuring the dead were at peace before hopping aboard that jerk was the most horrid thing a god could do!” She heaved out a powerful breath, smoothing out her blue dress. “I do _so enjoy_ the sound of a mortal choking on their last vestiges of vitality. Don’t worry.” She started towards him, reaching her arms out for his face, the corpse holding him up groaned. “You’ll only feel a spot of pressure, then, I’ll grant that wish of yours. You _must_ have wanted death if you came to these isles after all.”

Before she could grab him, the entire front wall was torn from the mountainside. Thick yellowed claws attached to green scaled flesh gouged into the surrounding rock. The woman immediately lurched away, the dead staggering back from the sudden increase in natural light. That, and the flames pouring from the maw of a dragon.

“I heard a traveler in distress! Chalice? You aren’t bumbling about my domain again, are you? You know I don’t like someone taking a snack from me!” The dragon’s voice boomed, shaking dust from the roof. Though his voice was friendly, the lip-curling snarl was not. The multi-colored flames cast horrifying shadows through the fading light of the sun-drenched fog.  Mugman spat out another chunk of decayed flesh, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Why Grim, of course I would! Mortals are within my domain as well after all!” Chalice responded, but, pointedly, she didn’t approach the other god. Mugman felt a thick tail wrap around his midsection, dragging him up and out of the tomb. Chalice gave him a black toothed grin, she didn’t seem that upset her home had just lost an entire wall.

“Yes, but you just waste the good bits!”

“Grim, I’m not certain you should be taking that one from me, remember the last non-fleshy sort you tried to eat? I’m not certain Bon Bon got all of those shards of glass out.”  The dragon paused, humming lowly for a few moments while Mugman shook in his grip, still choking on the slime but feeling the last of it pour into his mouth. This wasn’t the first time he’d ever gotten something in his soul liquid, but this was the worst he could remember. He’d sooner take salt water for the rest of his life than ever go through hacking out bits of corpse soup ever again.

“He’ll make a good drink to wash it down! Say uh… you aren’t eating that one…are you?” Grim pointed to the nearest undead, the one that had been caught by him removing the front, and was now squirming, reaching out for its lower half. Chalice pursed her lips, but ultimately shook her head, waving for him to do as he pleased.

“Do be sure to drink every drop dear, I’ll feel better knowing his last wishes were indeed followed through.” She shot another grin to Mugman, he glared at her through his tears.

“Oh sure! See you later then!” Grim’s neck snapped down, his jaws enclosing the things legs. Heavy crunching noises and black tar splattered out of his mouth. He picked up the rest of the body in one paw, and shifted Mugman to his other paw. His wings snapped out, looking far too small to be truly effective considering his distended stomach bulged. Mugman’s bag pressed against his side, the book digging into his abdomen. He was far too weak to do anything but let the dragon carry him away, but he swore, if he ever escaped the dragon, he’d find a way to punch her. With that very Cuphead-like thought in mind, he focused more on coughing out the last bits from his mouth.

====-====-====-====

The tower the dragon took him to was tall, far too tall for him to simply hop out of. He was tossed onto the main platform exposed to the air, filthy, slick stone causing him to slide a few feet upon landing. Grim threw the still squirming corpse onto the platform as well, then perched primly on the side of it.

“Now, I have ta get a few more things.” Grim informed him, speaking like one would to an unruly child. Mugman just stared at him, trails of tainted soul liquid still trickling down the corners of his lips. Grim nodded, grinned at him, and flew away. Sure his next meal wouldn’t be able to do anything about escaping.

Mugman hastily pulled out a healing potion, thought it wouldn’t help with the panic curling through his soul at his situation, it would help get rid of the cloying, sour taste in his mouth. Swishing it around to clear out any remaining pieces, he spat out the first mouthful, uncaring of how rude that might be considered. Then he took a couple more sips, just to be sure the taste of the potion overpowered all else. Done with that bit, he carefully eased closer to the edge, trying to peer down the sides. Though he could see the remains of stone stairs on circling the building, none were in any condition to be supporting even his weight. That, and he was more than certain that the dull, greasy look on the previously white building made the stumps of stairs far too dangerous.

Realizing he didn’t have anywhere to go, at least on the outside, he felt a sob squeeze his chest, building until he let it out. Unwilling to just sit and cry though, he staggered to his feet, wiping tears away from his eyes so he could attempt to see any other means of going down. Instead, all he saw was the corpse, weakly scrabbling at the stone with unnaturally bent fingers. Falling back to his knees, curling up so he could press his face into his legs, he allowed himself to cry. The stress far too great to let his frazzled mind do much else.

Never had he wished for his brother’s presence more.

====-====-====-====

Mugman was awoken by soft nudging. Fearing it was the corpse, he shot up from his curled-up position on the floor. Instead of fetid rot, he was greeted by a black boned horse creature. Its’ mane blazed a bright violet, casting an array of shadows on the darkened surroundings. He remained curled up, keeping his knees tucked close, his arms in a position to drag him away in case it went after him. Instead, it whinnied, and while the noise sounded like thousands of dying souls screaming in agony, it didn’t sound hostile towards him.

It approached him once more, flame wrapped hooves lightly clicking against stone. He hesitantly, oh so hesitantly, held out one of his hands.

“Hello?” He asked, voice raw and weak. The horse whickered, skeletal tail swishing, bits of fire dripping like lava from the bone. It lowered itself to the floor, curling its legs inward via a series of disturbing snapping sounds. Then it jerked its head towards its back, as if gesturing for him to get on. He blinked, it nudged his hand with its boney snout. So, figuring he’d done enough stupid things in his life, and figuring that at this point he had nothing to lose beyond having to figure out just how to beat death back until he could fix his brother, he stood up. His legs shook, weak still from how much he’d had to endure. It patiently waited for him to climb on, standing only when his small hands grabbed ahold of the bones closest to where he sat on the only patch of flesh it had on its back.

Giving out a far louder neigh, almost like a shriek, it bolted, shadowy hands pulling out from the ribcage to hold his legs close so he didn’t slip off. It found the first stair, somehow managing to find purchase on the stone despite it being no larger than Mugman’s forearm. He closed his eyes, not willing to have them open in case the horse slipped.

It never did, easily carrying him down the seemingly endless tower, thundering away from the thing even as a dragon’s roar echoed out across the Isle. The fog being useless to keep it muffled.

The horse continued until it reached another die shaped house on the bridge to cross over, the door opened by itself, and the horse’s odd shadow hands pulled him off, depositing him safely in the building. Then, avoiding a burst of fire that shot out of the sky at it, it vanished into the ground, and the door slammed shut. Mugman, confused, but never more glad to be in a strange building, quietly thanked the horse, even if it wouldn’t hear him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Odd that these hellish beasts keep popping up, isn't it? Mugman has finally reached the third Isle, but it's awful late now.   
> The next deity to say they tried keeping that boy gon get gutshot by Cuphead. That, or eaten. And it's a double good thing Cuphead has already sort of taken care of Chalice on Isle one, I'll leave it to your imagination as to what he would have done to her had he seen what she put his brother through. 
> 
> The Third Isle will have to wait for December.


	12. Honey Hum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cuphead runs into a noble, Mugman runs into a queen.

Cuphead grumbled angrily as he stomped his way through the tattered, skeletal remains of a dingy red tent. He was starting to wonder just how old these deities truly were. Then he thought about how silly it was for a twelve-year-old to ponder ages of all-powerful gods. Then he decided they just weren’t worth the time anyway. He paused for a few minutes to take in the state of the Isle, a sudden urge to scale the giant wheel behind him, just to see if height would help him see further. He idly watched the red tinged mist swirl around his feet as he pondered his options.

 He turned on his heel, his boot digging into the dirt where stones once paved. The wheel, concealed by the fog, was likely the tallest thing on the Isle, and he didn’t see any harm in trying to get a better view of the Isle. Anything to get him to Isle Three faster was welcome. Just as he passed the pyramid building, a deafening bang shot out through the air. He jolted, letting out a high-pitched shriek, twisting to see what had made that noise.

“Grim! Grim you’d better show yourself!” A strong female voice hollered out somewhere behind him. He turned his head, squinting, then felt stupid for doing so. The fog coiled around his vision mockingly.  When no other sounds came out for a couple minutes, he hesitantly faced the direction of the shouting fully, not exactly willing to get the attention of whoever could yell so loud. Even so, he was curious, he wanted to know if the voice belonged to a deity that wasn’t as bad as every other one he’d come across. The young deity eased himself closer to the origin of the shout, looking for some way to conceal himself. His outfit, with parts of gleaming gold and vivid red, didn’t exactly blend in.

Slowly, a grimace formed on his face, growing deeper as he took in the rusted metal supports, warped nearly beyond recognition. The chunks and remains of the road, coated in a thin red film courtesy of the fog. The smell of iron and wet rot coming and going with each new tendril of fog sliding past his face. Him in his clean outfit, despite it showing signs of age that he hadn’t lived long enough nor wore it long enough to show, didn’t even sort of fit in. If that person came around, he’d stick out, and there was nowhere to hide within the phantoms of a showy past.

“Grim! You oaf of a brother! I’ll feed you to Creampuff, I swear I will!” The voice screamed out, followed by two more loud gunshots. Cuphead flinched, head ducking down to strike against his shoulders where it usually floated over. He shuffled closer to a tent near some bushes, staunchly ignoring the splatters of ink or oil and blood. Just as he finished pressing himself against the fabric, a woman in luxurious clothing stormed by. He gawked at her appearance, thick skirts, brightly colored makeup, regal silks, and then he saw the shot gun in her hand. She had the fiercest expression he’d ever seen in his short life.

Her heel tapped the ground rapidly in an audible show of her impatience. She kept scanning the sky, sometimes muttering curses at the fog, waving at it as if that would disperse it and allow her to find what she was looking for. After a handful of minutes, she let out a sharp hiss, sounding almost animalistic with anger. She strode on, seemingly unaware of Cuphead’s presence. For that, he was thankful, he was absolutely certain he wanted nothing to do with angering someone that intense.

Thinking he was in the clear, he took a step, and nearly crushed an odd bean looking creature. It squeaked, then the bushes squeaked, then the entire area around him squeaked. He heard a surprised cry from the woman who’d just faded into the fog, and immediately debated how hard he should punt the snitch.

“What? He was right there? Child, why didn’t youuuu... wait a second…” The woman, having reappeared, eyes glittering with bright joy, shoulders once tense slumped with relief, paused and took him in. He noted that the gun was no longer visible, though he had no idea where it could have gone. She clicked her tongue, scowling, but not in a hostile way.

“No, Jelly, I said blue, don’t you know blue? This one is red! You should know what red looks like!” She scolded the creature, sharply gesturing to her red and white gown. Cuphead perked up, the fact that the thing thought he was someone, and that someone was actually blue, caught his attention immediately. She turned away, skirt swishing with her quick movement, kicking up a cloud of fog. “Keep searching, and remember, _blue._ ” She wagged her finger at the creature and started off again. Ordinarily, in this environment, Cuphead would have gone after her with threats at the ready. No one on these Isles had meant good when they brought up his blue brother. But the way she’d scowled, the way her brows had furrowed with renewed worry, and the soft glow on his back told him, she was different.

“Hey wait! What do you mean blue?” He called out, figuring he’d check, to be sure there wasn’t some other porcelain being wandering around these parts. She glanced at him over her shoulder, mouth pressed in a thin line.

“Boy, I’m looking for a young porcelain boy like yourself, except he wore blue. He was also, unlike yourself, mortal. I’m _sure_ you can understand when I say, I don’t have time for chatter.” She snapped, her gun’s barrel tapping her shoulder impatiently. He didn’t care to know when she’d pulled it back out.

“My brother came here a bit ago, he’s blue, with a bag carrying a book.” Cuphead wasn’t sure Mugman still had that bag, but considering he hadn’t seen it while traveling, he figured his brother probably did. The woman spun on her heel sharply, posture no longer irritated but eager.

“Yes! He was so small, and had such darling ideas for dishes!” She gushed, clasping the barrel of her gun to her chest, a warm, fond expression smoothing her features. “You must be that troublesome brother he spoke of!” Suddenly, she scowled. “You’re also the reason he’s here.”

One second she was a good distance from him, the next, she was directly in front of him, wagging her finger at his face sharply.

“What in the world made you decide drinking suspicious things in a potion master’s house was in any way a good idea!” She scolded. “I’d have thought you’d have more sense!”

Normally, Cuphead treated getting scolded like that thing he had to get through so he could continue having fun. Mugman was, while not without his moments, more often bark than bite. So he had a habit of tuning out the speaker the moment a scolding tone came out of their mouth. This woman though, she had her gun in one hand, clenched so tight he could hear the metal creaking. He could see the muscles moving under the sheer golden silk covering her shoulders and arms. He had no problem believing that unlike his thinner brother, she was perfectly capable of tossing him all the way back home. Or putting a bullet through his head, and he _really_ didn’t fancy finding out how immortal a deity was. So instead, he just gave her a doleful, bashful smile, hoping she’d understand he regret it more than he could ever say.

She must have read it on his face, because she paused, mouth open to deliver more scolding. Then her gun was inches from his face, and everything turned slow motion. He felt the gun brush past his cheek, and watched her pull the trigger. The bang cracked the side of his face, not enough to chip pieces off, but enough to make him hiss. He couldn’t believe the weapon was in any way firing normal rounds. He’d seen a gun fire a few times, not a one of them had that level of power. At least he thought there was no way, it was hard to keep his thoughts together with the booming roar following the sharp bang. His shadow twisted, a too wide grin flashing in the depths of the far too dark stain on the stones and dirt.

At first, as his mind caught up with the stone-faced, icy woman in front of him, one hand on her gun, the other buried in his shirt, pulling him to the left, he wasn’t sure why he still heard roaring. Then the heaving steps and whining behind him finally registered as being another creature. Then he realized she hadn’t ever intended to shoot at him, and everything returned to normal speed. Cuphead turned enough to see what was behind him as he righted himself, the cracks on his head healing with a soft golden glow, sealing back up within a few moments.

The shredded remains of a massive draconic skull stared back, gore splattering the remaining green scales. Pieces of bone, tendons and muscles still attached, lay scattered across the ground. Cuphead felt a chunk of flesh flop off his back onto the floor with a squelch.

“Bon Bon!” Another voice, from another similar head, cried, thick tears pouring down the dragons’ cheeks. “I was just goin’ to take a nibble!” Bon Bon’s eyes narrowed slowly, the air seeming to drop in temperature despite the flames coming from yet another head of the dragon sliding out of the fog’s shroud.

“Grim Matchstick.” Bon Bon’s voice was quiet; Cuphead had never been more glad he wasn’t someone else _in his life_. “I have been calling for you for the past forty minutes.” She continued, gun still aimed at the slowly regenerating head. “There is a mortal, who could be _dead_ for all I know, wandering around these Isles. Now, I’m _well_ aware _you’ve slipped recently._ ” She paused, adjusting her posture until she was using the gun like a cane, resting her hands daintily on the butt of the weapon. The dragon simply gave her a confused look. “So I was _hoping_ you’d seen him, remembered just what you were reborn to do, and _do it._ ”

“Bon Bon, why, I don’t recall any sorta thing.  But Chalice gave me a snack not too long ago! There was this little fella too, but I was just gonna wash down my snack with him I swear!” The goddess closed her eyes, sucking in a deep breath through her nose, like she was trying to dredge up as much patience as she could, and was having to scrape the corners to get even a small amount. Her eyes slit open, just enough for Cuphead to spot blazing irises aimed at him.

“Boy, that brother of yours, does your Domain know where he is?” She questioned, voice lighter than it had been when she was speaking to her brother.

“No, I just know he’s further ahead.” Cuphead responded, feeling hesitant, but not threatened. He wondered if these were two siblings, then wondered how siblings could possibly harm one another so badly. He could _still_ see down the throat of the messed up head.

“Behind Beppi’s ride, further along the path, there’s a fountain. It can find anything, if you can appeal to the being within its waters, it should tell you where he is and what state he’s in. I was worried my pig of a brother had decided to eat him, but _evidently_ , he _learned something._ Not the _right_ thing mind you, but something.” She sneered at Grim, who bared his teeth at her for a few moments, then he ignored her in favor of watching his third head regrow bits of tendon. “Go to that fountain, and come back, I’ll help you from there.”

Cuphead, thoroughly confused, nodded weakly, and started for the last place he’d seen the castle. He didn’t come across it, or the clown again, and for that he was thankful.

====-====-====-====

The fountain was impressive, and yet bland all at the same time. Its stones were weathered, caked in filth. Cracks, chips, and chunks marred what had likely been a gorgeous place for the past to rest weary feet before continuing on. Cuphead scraped his boot along one of the stones near the edge, watching as the moss torn with the movement revealed green tinged white stone. He hummed, wondering just how he was going to get an empty pool of murky, blackish green water to respond to him. Or even how a forgotten offshoot of the Isle would even know where his brother was.

As he mulled over the various questions in his head, the water rippled. At first, it was so minute, so small, he didn’t even notice. Then the ripples got larger, black waves cresting, but never quite breaking past the barrier of stones. Cuphead hopped back anyway, unwilling to get the sludge on his boots. Soon, the water was splashing so hard it flew over the edges, soaking the crumbling stones with decay. From the depths, came crystal clear water. Cuphead’s eyebrows shot up as he continued avoiding the waves being thrown by whatever lived in the pool. The process took a good few minutes, but soon, clear water was the only thing remaining.

‘ _Interesting.’_

“Interesting!” A voice repeated, the water bubbled with the voice, then, a face appeared within the cleanest water Cuphead had ever seen. “How very interesting!” Cuphead blinked and upon refocusing on the water, found himself staring at a squat face taking up most of the pool, yet not breaching the water. He bit back a surprised cry of something that would have Mugman glaring at him, stumbling away from the water.

“Oh don’t bother, I’m harmless! My brother made sure of that before your Domain even had a thought of doing more than just idling about!”

‘ _I am not the one whose corpse is resting at the bottom of a forgotten pool.’_

 “Awful state this place is in isn’t it! Why you should have seen Inkwell back in them glory days! Greenery all around, birdsong so chipper to the point you wanted to drown the little tweets, nothing like this I tell you. Say, how is my brother? Not that I give more than half a hoot about that sneaky murderer.”

Slowly, images crawled into Cuphead’s mind, and the first thing he noticed was a fairly younger looking Elder Kettle. He wanted to think he was surprised, and yet, he remembered the potions on the top shelf, where the boys couldn’t reach. Cuphead remembered Elder Kettle telling them not to mess with anything on the top shelves. He remembered how scary the two thought he looked when Elder Kettle had loomed over them, face dark with what they’d later taken as an added act to really hammer the rule in. Cuphead himself still remembered how Elder Kettles voice had rumbled, deep and threatening more than anything else.

He was never more glad for deciding the darkly colored potions were too boring to bother with. Though, _now_ he was too _tired_ , too frazzled, to dredge up more than a ‘talk about this later’ thought for the new information.

“Oh you’ve got plenty of questions but I’m only going to answer one, it’s a rule of mine you see, keeps things short and sweet! Been a while though, I might change my mind, it depends!” The god’s voice was playful, and yet, Cuphead detected a warning within the tone. His Domain, simmering from the perceived insult, gave him no help. He was torn between asking about his brother, and asking what had happened to the man in the waters. Considering Bon Bon hadn’t remarked about the pool being anything special beyond the man, he bet that whatever put the god in the water had happened before her time. Well, he thought with cold mirth, at least Elder Kettle hadn’t lied when he told the boys his sibling had vanished long before the other deities came about.

So, despite having a multitude of new questions, his internal list of important things deemed his brother far more important than their flighty caretaker. Besides, knowing that some gods ate mortals and that one nearly drank his brother’s soul like it was water, unnerved him more than knowing he and Mugman had been sort of raised by a murderer.

“My brother, he—”

“Say no more! I’ve got just the answer. Your mortal brother is within the Lair of the Devil himself, looking a bit sickly if I don’t say so myself! Not much different from—excuse you! I was still talking! These youngin’s just keep getting faster, and more rude… Didn’t even stay to hear the answer to the last question!” The fountain muttered to himself, letting his image fade back into the waters imprisoning him.

 Far below, deep down in the depths, white bone caught what little light made it through the water above, shadows of runes pock-marking the surface.

====-=====-====-====

Cuphead sprinted as fast as he could back to where he last left the goddess and her brother. He’d have plenty of time to ask all sorts of questions later, but hearing his brother was trapped with the Devil himself took precedence. He wound up overshooting the stop, the moss and muck on his boots causing him to slide by two surprised deities. His only solace was that he didn’t flat out biff it right in front of the first decent deity and another that he was debating getting his Domain to eat.

The two looked to have been in the middle of a conversation, but Cuphead wasn’t too interested in listening to whatever they had been saying.

“Devil’s lair, whatever that is. That guy said he’s sick. My brother and I don’t get sick though!” He huffed out, body rattling with jittery nerves. Bon Bon’s grip on her gun, still posed with it like a cane, tightened until the metal creaked loudly. Her face lost any color it had had gained from her flushed rage.

“That bright betting place? What a waste of a good snack!” Grim whined, his snouts dropping to brush the dirt and stone below. Bon Bon tilted her head, eyes wide, murder clearly reflected in their gaze.

“Grim. Grim I’ve had some time to think after that little darling wandered off on his quest.” She started, voice low. Cuphead took a step away, debating if he should just continue on while the two were distracted. He didn’t have time for sibling fights. His Domain whispered for him to stay, and his legs suddenly had trouble shifting even an inch.

“Grim, what is your Domain?” Bon Bon’s question, though simple, caught the attention of both deities.

“Well goodness Bon Bon, you know it!”

“Humor me, brother.”

“I’m the god of Travelers and Fire!” Grim puffed his chest out proudly, the effect was ruined by his stomach protruding past even his ribcage. She nodded.

“Tell me Grim. What is a person when they’re walking down paths?”

“Health conscious?” She cocked her gun, Grim reeled back, claws burrowing into the dirt to gain a few inches of distance. His wings fluttered nervously, sounding like rustling leaves in the almost silence of the rust filled Isle. “A traveler.”

“What are you god of again?”

“Travelers and fire.”

“Grim… brother, do you remember the last time you did as your Domain wanted?”

“Well, no, but you can’t blame me! I’m so hungry sister! That last bear just had so much meat on him! I was sure he wouldn’t mind, and he didn’t! It was just a little scream he gave! After that, nothin’! I swear by it!” Grim’s tone was imploring, Bon Bon’s face, having remained stagnant throughout her questioning, suddenly collapsed into one of intense regret.

“Grim, you _aren’t_ hungry.” She spoke like one who’d given up on defending the actions of someone once beloved. “Grim, we don’t need food. We’re not… you had a _chance._ That boy is a traveler, and you tried to _drink_ him. Grim do you understand? You should have roasted Chalice, she was one of the first to go off her Domain’s path!” Her voice was mournful. Grim just frowned, glancing at his other heads.

“Bon Bon, he would’a been right as rain, just a sip is all I would’a taken! And...and of course I’m hungry! Don’t’cha hear my belly! Rumbling away I tell you! You used to give me all sorts of snacks, same with the others! Used to say a little food never hurt no immortal!” Grim’s voice carried a note of hurt in it, but that was near buried in indignation. Bon Bon opened her mouth to respond, only to close it again, staring at her rotund sibling.

Cuphead, while she’d spoken, let his Domain carry their past actions into his mind. So many people, requesting the god meant to protect those on journeys, being devoured more and more the greater Grim’s self-perceived hunger grew. People who once found solace in the bright flames that the dragon breathed out, being burned alive by them instead. People hurrying to get rid of the need for fire, carrying lanterns to chase shadows away; and things they’d hoped would scare Grim’s appetite away. Pleas for the protector to leave, as those who traveled no longer felt any level of safe with the beast, drooling as he stared at his next meal.

Bon Bon, taking down aggressive animals with ease, sometimes with her gun, other times, bare handed. Defending the homes of those who’d been granted her protection like a mother defending her children. Her happily showering praise on those whose recipes turned into big hits with the other deities she fed as a way of building comradery. Her refusing to accept a precious heirloom from a despairing spouse, tired of his home being threatened, and stringing the trespassers up by their hair, battered bodies displayed as a show of divine retribution. Her doing the same to someone whose gift she’d deemed worthless. Her accepting only the finest from the wealthy, leaving the poor with suddenly unwanted recipes and dead loved ones delivered on doorsteps. A sign of her displeasure, given coldly.

But after that, he watched her threaten his brother. Watched his brother clear her ire with a bold lie and bashful, but eager questions. Until even Cuphead could hear the bright change in her voice. Watched her coo over Mugman, wave him away kindly, and proudly stand over the first feast she’d made since being trapped on Inkwell. Her home growing warm.

Then he saw Grim, echoes of his past self luring him to a building etched into the side of the mountain. Saw his brother, tears pouring down his cheeks, coughing out what had to be the sludge dripping from the mottled corpse still gripping him tightly. Saw a woman, clearly another deity, give Grim a smile as she asked him to drain her brother’s soul entirely. Had to listen to Grim talk to his brother—who still had tainted, corpse riddled soul liquid seeping from his lips, thick tears down his face—like one would an unruly toddler.

Through his suddenly muffled hearing, he thought he heard Bon Bon angrily snap something about Grim not understanding what she was trying to get through to him. With that last image of his sibling, so happy bustling about a kitchen with Bon Bon, glaring at Grim as his frame shivered and his chest heaved, he didn’t really care what was being said.

_‘She is trying to do what we do. It is not working as well as she wants. We shall show her how it is done.’_ His Domain remarked, heavy voice rumbling deep in Cuphead’s soul.

The feather blazed like a small sun.

====-====-=====-=====

Bon Bon, frustrated to the point of cursing, barely held back from digging her hands into her hair and pulling. She felt bitter in a way. A century plus on these Isles, she lived, angry at the mortals who’d trapped her with the likes of Wally Warbles and Beppi. Then this tiny child wandered in, dared to lie to her face. She’d been _just fine_ grumbling about the pains of having to hear Cagney screech at Grim for burning his flowers. Perfectly content to watch Cala Maria play golf with the mast of a sunken ship and one of the boats that once drifted in the tunnel of love.

She’d been certain that she’d get out eventually, and she’d get revenge on those that dared to trap a warrior such as herself. She’d heard Rumor remark enough about how grand it would be to craft a poison that choked the life out of the traitors. Then the sweet little mortal popped in and popped out just as fast, on a quest for the life of the brother that clearly stood before her now. She felt another wave of hate build up in her heart, the knowledge that Elder Kettle, free as could be, was just as corrupted as the lot of them.

A part of her imagined herself having been the one free instead of Elder Kettle. She wondered if she would have discovered her mistakes. How she’d suddenly decided that shiny was better than meaningful. The shawl over her shoulders, having replaced an old cloak a sweet woman had given her long ago in return for her protecting the woman’s small hut, felt slimy. She clearly remembered wondering just why this woman would give up a thing that provided much needed warmth in favor of the knowledge that her meager belongings were guarded by the Goddess of Hearth and Home. She never _did_ get an answer, but she recalled how flattered she’d felt. That her Domain, and she herself, were so desired that the woman would be willing to having one less shield against the winter winds.

For a century and beyond, she hadn’t felt that same warmth, that same feeling of accomplishment. Then the little darling gave her the brightest grin she’d seen in that time upon tasting a sweet cream for the first time in his life.

She imagined being the one to have raised the brothers. Though she didn’t know much about the red one, the way the little darling spoke of him made her more inclined to believe he could be just as endearing as her little mortal was. She had every belief that she’d have raised them right. She would have taught them about survival out in the world, how to take care of one another, and certainly to never drink or eat unknown things.

The hate in her throat caught, as the world abruptly grew far darker than it should have at that moment. Grim didn’t seem to notice, too busy crying over how she didn’t understand, how he couldn’t help his hunger, his need to eat overtaking his need to do his job. He told her he was still protecting them in memory, so he _wasn’t_ neglecting his job. Through her confusion, the bitter hopelessness curled into a tight ball in her chest. She _knew_ why he and her had been trapped here. _She knew it clearly._

She didn’t feel like slaughtering mortals for trapping her here anymore.

Then the ground grew wet, her skirts growing heavy as the lush fabric soaked up the liquid now rising above the dirt. Her brows furrowed, the grip on her gun shifting until her finger brushed against the side of the trigger. Her Domain, having grown chatty after so many years of absence, cheerfully greeted something she couldn’t hear or see. Grim too, finally noticed the change of surroundings.

Bon Bon shifted her gaze to the little deity to her left, and just about screamed. The dark, eerie grin, full of a different sort of hunger from her brothers wasn’t what she expected to see. That smile curling across the face of someone who had been giving her such a sweetly determined gaze before, was hungry for retribution. His bright gold gaze was locked on her brother, water pouring from his teeth, yet not getting his outfit wet. She could see a bright glow from the gold donning his thin frame, especially from his back.

The water below her rippled, even though she hadn’t moved.

Her eyes, though focused on the boy, caught sight of slips of white floating, drifting towards both her and her brother. She tore her eyes from him, her Domain telling her she’d be better off just watching. It was a feather.

As soon as the glowing tufts on the end of it brushed against her skirts, it turned a spotted grey. A deep rumble filled the air, making the water ripple all around the strange area. Then she saw the other feather brush against her brother. As it turned tar black, she felt a shiver slowly scrape down her spine. Turning her eyes back to the feather beside her, she found it gone, and below her, two unholy gold eyes peered back up at her. Her throat locked up, her Domain stayed the hand on her shotgun, helpfully telling her any antagonistic action aimed at the thing far larger than even Cala Maria would only serve to do more harm than good.

_‘Do not worry! The Feather merely means to aid us in fixing our Fire!’_

Bon Bon shuddered when the gaze moved from her, to the feather being snapped at by Grim.

The gold caught on bone, caught on teeth the size of her, rolled across jaws that didn’t match the shape of the skull.

Grim, the moment he spotted the gaze, did exactly as she had, and froze. Grim’s maw began to pour fire, as if he was drooling. Bon Bon felt a weak call of his name pass her lips, but it went unnoticed. She wondered if his Domain was saying anything to him, or if it was still ignoring its child, just as hers had done to her.

“Awful lot of sins you got there you scaly tub of lard.” The boys voice was layered behind a far deeper, far more threatening voice. She knew without any doubt just _what_ was speaking with the deity.

A massive form moved within the light cast by the fire, far below their feet. Bon Bon took a step, wanting nothing more than to fend off whatever was below, and clearly had eyes for Grim. Her Domain once again kicked in, locking her limbs with a lighthearted laugh. Normally, that would tell her whatever was about to happen was fine. Every deity knew exactly what happened when threats to siblings presented themselves. The last time Wally had tried burrowing his claws into Grim for something she never cared to learn, she had blown his legs clean off. Sure, she’d had to avoid the coast for a while, but Brineybeard eventually understood the reason for her actions and business returned to normal.

Yet, she couldn’t help but fear for the sometimes-childish sibling of hers.

“Now just what do you think you’re saying there! Why, you haven’t even known me that long you little—”

“Grim.” She got out at last, voice shaky.  Her brother, flame-drenched maw casting a terrifying glow on their surroundings, glared at her. He lifted a paw, jabbing it at the grinning god before them, filthy yellow claw scratching the gold collar. His second head’s mouth had warped into a sneering grin.

Bon Bon was a warrior as well as a protector. Her eyes were used to spotting fast moving things the moment they showed themselves. And yet, she didn’t know how the still waters had taken her brothers entire foreleg. She simply recalled how one second she was watching him open his mouth to yell at the god, and the next, he was crying in a shrill, frantic voice. Heavy, angry, pain filled tears rolled down his chubby cheeks as he reared back, moving to clutch the stump. A deep rumbling answered his whines.

The Goddess glanced down, mind scrambling to figure out just what was happening. She caught the flash of a skull, caught in the glow of the flames dancing on the surface of the water, then the thing vanished once more.

“This is because of that little fella isn’t it! You inedible types are all the same!” Grim wailed, “You never listen! It was just gonna be a sip!”

“Sure!” The boy, or rather, the god, shrugged, too wide smile quirking up further at one end. “And this is just a nibble.” The water around Grim stirred.

It was the last warning he got.

Bon Bon watched jaws, broken at the tip, rip up from the water, snapping shut faster than Grim could move. Thick, sharp, cragged teeth burrowed into his scales, vivid red blood poured into the waters, obscuring the beast below. He cried out for her, even as the crocodilian jaw reconnected, dragging strips of his flesh with their movement. She watched as the upper skull, hippopotamus in origin, with one visible golden slit of an eye, met its jaw with Grim caught in the middle.  The eye seemed to stare right into her soul, stirring up the many wrongdoings of her past, dredging up her faults. She stared back, listening to her brother’s cries.

It almost seemed to pause, as if ensuring she understood she could very easily have been in Grim’s position, and Grim in hers. Then it, and her brother, dove back into the water, sending a wave of cold liqiud splashing over the two still on the surface. Bon Bon had to shield her face from the bloody liquid, dropping her shotgun in her haste to block the wave.

When she opened her eyes, wiping away her makeup and the water she hadn’t managed to keep away, the boy was vanishing into the fog, complaining of his Domain feeling heavier. Later, she’d recall that his voice sounded strained.

She opened her mouth to call out for him, numb, but needing to make sense of what had just happened. Yet her voice never came. He was gone long before she got it back. Around her, red stained the ground she stood on, and laid before her. Her gown clung uncomfortably to her frame, soaked beyond saving. But all she truly noticed was the rusty tang of Grim’s blood on her tongue.

Her Domain gleefully wished the boy luck in fixing their Fire.

====-====-====-====

Mugman sat up after his rattling had ceased. The peaceful silence of the house almost enticed him enough to stay in the safety it offered. Except, he wasn’t even sure the place _was_ safe. He couldn’t bring himself to believe anywhere but perhaps Baroness’s place was safe, and it was only that way because she decided not to kill him. For all he knew, the owner of this place was long dead, a mortal who’d built an offering, and died to a deity that didn’t care for the gift. Or the deity who made it was like Cagney, giving off an air of safety and kindness that didn’t extend beyond selfish amusement.

The roars from Grim had long faded off, warded away by the resilient doors barricading him from the outside. Mugman stood up, stretching out despite not needing too, intending on leaving. Unwilling to truly stick around and find out.

“Is that really wise?”

Mugman wasn’t above admitting to leaping at least a foot in the air, head clacking loudly against his scrunched high shoulders. He spun around, forgetting to let his body do the same, to see a die wearing a rather impressive purple suit. The man arched a finely lined brow, crossing his arms across his chest and giving Mugman an amused hum. Mugman carefully slid his foot back, intending to gain distance until he could reach the door to freedom.

“Don’t bother, I’m not much for slaughtering ‘them pesky mortal traitors’ and what have you. Names King Dice, or The God of Fortune, or Lady Luck, really, take your pick.” The god shrugged, docile in stance. Mugman still eased back a step, if only to feel better about meeting someone new.

“Mugman, Mr. King Dice. Sorry to be breaking in like this.” Mugman gestured to his spot in the building, King Dice lazily waved one white gloved hand in response.

“Oh I don’t care what you do here. I highly doubt you’d do worse than any of those grievances out there. As such, are you sure you should be leaving? You do realize that Isle Three has the likes of Kahl and Sally, right? Not to mention Cala. And, do I smell a touch of death on you?” King Dice leaned closer, Mugman found that action useless considering he knew well and good the smell of decay on him was easily strong enough to smell from Isle one.

“I had a run in with a corpse lady, who tried to turn me into a corpse, first by her own hand and then by giant hungry lizard.” Mugman retorted, mirroring King Dice’s loose stance. King Dice snorted, slick grin sliding across his smooth face.

“Chalice is on Isle Three too, in case you weren’t aware. You could just stay here until you eventually turn to dust, I’m certainly not keen on stopping you.” King Dice strolled over to a gramophone in the corner, brushing dust off the machine. “Then again,” he said as he glanced at the mortal from the corner of his eye, “I don’t much care if you _do_ leave.” Mugman caught a flash of green in King Dice’s dark irises, but the amusement clear on the gods face said the gleam wasn’t threatening. So, Mugman took it as such. He smiled far too cheerily.

“I’d love to sit around like the rest of you, but I’ve got things to do and family to fix.”

“Fix?” King Dice turned, finger tapping on the edge of the Gramophone. The amusement in his eyes only growing.

“A wise god made several unwise decisions and I have to clean up the mess.” Mugman’s voice, though light, didn’t match the determination in his gaze. King Dice hummed an idle tune, fingers keeping a steady beat.

“So, what you’re saying is luck hasn’t been on your side?” King Dice sounded playful.

“Luck doesn’t have much say when it comes to what someone chooses to do.”

“So it would seem.”

“But, I figure if I _do_ wind up dying out there, at least I can say I took a _crack_ at it.” Mugman tapped one of the fractures the healing potion hadn’t had the strength to fix along his leg. King Dice snorted, eyes bright green and mirthful.

“Fine, if a god put you in this mess, a god will give you a _spot_ of help.” King Dice’s long legs cleared the small distance between them with two steps. Mugman remained where he stood, hands gripping the bag strap tightly. He wanted to argue that Elder Kettle hadn’t forced him on that boat, but really, Elder Kettle started the series of events that led him to these Isles. King Dice held out his hand, a lone pink die appearing with a snap of his fingers. At the nod, he took the game piece.

“This is more for you than it is me, isn’t it?” Mugman didn’t quite ask, more stated. King Dice’s answering, far too wide grin, was more than enough confirmation. Not wanting to stick around much longer, and figuring the god had nothing else to say, he thanked King Dice hesitantly, then shuffled out the door into Isle Three.

King Dice watched the mortal go, too wide grin breaking as laughter built up in his non-existent throat. The lights in the Die house flickered once, and he was gone.

====-====-====-====

If Mugman thought Isle Two’s red fog was bad, he couldn’t fathom how he was going to make it through Isle Three’s thick, almost syrup like fog. Everything had a coating of slick black oil, the walkways battered in places where clear battles had been fought. Just _what_ fought what, he didn’t know, nor did he care to find out. Examining the little pink die, he stuffed it into the pocket on the front of his shirt. Then, because he didn’t think distractions were wise, he focused once more on the Isle. If the ‘gift’ was going to kill him, he figured it would happen where that god would get the most entertainment, and nothing was more boring than a victim dying two steps into a potential hell.

Everything had a brown tinge, the air burned when he breathed it, and faintly, covered by the thick air around him, he heard heavy machinery running to his left. The person he feared running into most was whoever Kahl was, simply because it seemed like everyone was warning him about the god. The downside was he wasn’t sure where Kahl, or any deity for that matter, was hiding amongst the black stained fog. He couldn’t tell if it was the smell of coal burning his lungs or the odd scent of ink that caused him to contemplate just not breathing for the rest of his life.

As he carefully shuffled into the depths of Isle Three, he heard more sounds of life. Normally, shuffles and voices would be cause for joy for people on unfamiliar grounds. For Mugman, it just heightened his fear. He passed an archway with a path under it leading towards the sounds of the machines. In the past, he could imagine the grand entrance lit up with bright lights, casting an inviting, impressive glow. Or perhaps it would have been illuminated by spotlights, reflecting the glitz the Isle might have had, ready for those on its soil to explore. Now, it sat crumbling, stained brownish black from the fog.

Mugman looked up at its pathetic state, letting his imagination fill in the gaps, give him a better idea of who might reside on this Isle. It didn’t help much, but it was enough. He guessed those on this Isle would be bolder in their actions, perhaps even more arrogant than those before.

As he sucked in another breath of fog, the air caught in his soul, and he began coughing. Doubling over from the force of the coughs, he fought to regain control of his body. His chest let out a sharp cracking noise, and he felt his shirt grow wet where ribs would be on a fleshier sort.. Dark soul liquid splattered on his glove. The coughing eased up, but his fear did no such thing.

_‘So soon?’_

He jolted, chest aching from an action he’d only done a scant few times before in his short years of life. His eyes scanned the area around him. Though he heard voices in the distance, the one he’d just heard was far too close. It had sounded like someone right in front or behind him. Shuddering, wiping the remains of his soul liquid from his mouth, he started moving. Mugman wasn’t keen on finding out just who had spoken.

To his left, a crumbling grey building with a gaping hole where the door had been. In the shadows, he could see a lobby, and signs of mass slaughter. Pieces of bodies lay scattered about, as if tossed lazily aside after being ripped off from the owners of said limbs. The scent of rotting meat reminded him of Chalice, and he had to force his feet to carry him away before his mind shut down. Somewhere, muddled by numerous worries and fears, a small voice remarked how lucky it was that they ran into Baroness _before_ Chalice.

He checked his bag, wanting to figure out just what he still had. Seven healing potions sat safely tucked into one remaining spare shirt. Three more pairs of gloves helped keep the glass vials from clinking together. The book sat on the other side of the shirt, taking up the rest of the room in the bag. Matches, the switch-blade, and, interestingly enough, a few treats wrapped in cloth. He figured Baroness had slipped them in while he was cleaning the counters. He had little else of importance in the bag, so he took a few sips of a health potion, enough to seal the break on his chest and leg, then continued on. He resolved to breathing as little as possible, figuring it was the thick fog that caused his soul to react the way it had.

Focused on his bag as he was, and despite regularly glancing around to be sure there was no one sneaking up from the alleys, Mugman couldn’t shake off the feeling that something wasn’t right. That he should be moving into the broken grey building. Ignoring the feeling, he eased forward, watching out for anything that could alert those on the Isle to his presence. Just because it was starting to look like he’d be meeting every deity, didn’t mean he couldn’t try and fight it by being more careful. He could still hear the buzz of things talking, of things moving.

When an odd sprinkling feeling dropped into his soul, he shuddered. His eyes immediately grew heavy, even as he realized the buzzing he was hearing wasn’t so much to the left, as it was _above_ him. He stumbled, feeling cold and hot all at the same time. As he tried to see just what had caught him into a vise like grip, the buzzing grew louder. In the stained windows of a barely kept golden yellow building, he saw the faces of countless bee’s pressed against the glass. The buzzing was washed out by a high-pitched ringing, then silence.

====-====-====-====

When Mugman woke up, he found a chain around his wrist leading to the wall some distance away in the opulent room he was in. The thing he was laying on propped his upper half up just enough to not be uncomfortable and was covered in soft black leather. The walls were almost garishly bright with gold accents, white marble, lush black fabrics, in the first pristine room he’d seen since Baroness’s place.  He winced, opening his eyes more slowly the second time around. Letting his gaze drift around, he spotted two bees standing in the corners of the room, one towered over the lounge chair he had been placed in, and finally, one far larger one sitting on what could only be a throne. That one also had his book, and was flipping through it with pursed lips and narrowed eyes.

When the one by the chair realized he was awake, it clanged the stick it held to the wooden portion of the chair, getting everyone else’s attention. Reverently bowing to the woman on the throne, it, and the others, left the room. The largest one gazed at him, eyes rolling across his form as he tried to sit up, The chain was too short, and he wound up with his right arm crossed over his lap, draped across the arm rest.

The corners of her lips pulled up, like she was trying to smile at him but was unsure how to do so. He reacted the way any tiny, fragile, drugged mortal would when faced with a deity—there was no question in his mind, she _was_ a deity—he pressed himself into the cushions as far as he could. She frowned.

“You’ll have to, erm…” She paused, tapping her chin with one of her hands, closing the book with one of the others. “Forgive me. It’s been quite a while since I’ve been presented with a…live… _mortal_ subject.” She tried smiling again, but it looked more like she was snarling at him.

“Miss, I—”

“Rumor Honeybottoms, Queen of Life and Fertility. Well, Goddess, but Queen is _far_ more unique, no?” She interrupted, looking at him in utter confusion despite her strong words. “Has it been so long that we’ve been forgotten? Surely Elder Kettle would have regaled you with tales about us?” She had an imploring note in her words, her eyes wide with disbelief. He shook his head, feeling the remains of whatever they dumped into his head fade into his soul, leaving his mind clear. She reared back as if smacked, hand flying to her yellow and black chest.

“Rusty _wench._ ” Had it not been for the fact that when she spoke in so hostile a manner, she had a faraway look on her face, Mugman might have thought she meant him. “I’ll have you know, I and all my fellow deities have done laudable things you could never dream of doing! Why, and I’m sure Cagney told you, there was this one time… oh but really _this_ story is _much_ better, do give me a moment to explain” She paused, a hearty laugh lighting up her features. “But no! _This…_ ” Then, she froze. Her posture—back straightened in eagerness, hands displayed in a pre-story telling state, lips pulled up in a broad grin—slumped. She cleared her throat, returning her hands to her lap in what he assumed was regal, but really came across as nervous.

“Boy, tell me…please? What…How goes life out there? I _know_ you just arrived on these Isles…” She paused, gesturing for him to speak with one elegant wave of a hand.

“I’m real sorry, but Elder Kettle didn’t let us go to town much. Or go too far from the house unless he was there.” Instead of deflating at his inability to answer, she instead arched both eyebrows high into the air, disbelief curling into her gaze. “But,” He hastily continued, the chain around his wrist suddenly far heavier than it had been before “When we did go, it was bustling and busy! There was even a carnival!”

“How long ago was that?”

“I think… gosh I’m twelve, and it was for our—”

“Hold on a second.” Now her voice was blank, politely so. “Twelve? And he just… let you come here?”

“Well, no. Something happened to my brother that made it so I had to come here. He… Elder Kettle doesn’t stay very long when he visits nowadays.”

“Cagney owes me _so many flowers._ ” She hissed, muttering something about bets and child rearing immediately after. Mugman’s head slowly tilted to one side in his confusion, straw sliding along the rim. She muttered for a few more seconds, realized what she was doing, flushed a bright red, coughed into her hand and resettled her ruffled furs.

“Dear me, I forget myself sometimes, years of solitude will do that I suppose~” Though she spoke lightly, the tired weight couldn’t be hidden. “The mortals then, they’re…surviving? Living?” He nodded, even more confused. She looked crushed at the confirmation, her shoulders slumping further, under imaginary weight he couldn’t

“What… do they say about us? Not… _us_ but us as in deities… of course.”

“I figured that’s what you meant.”

“You never know with small mortal minds! I just wanted to be sure!” She flushed a brighter red at the deadpan frown Mugman gained in favor of his previously confused one.

“When we visited the city the last time, we kept getting stopped, or, Elder Kettle kept getting stopped. People kept thanking him for ‘not falling the way the others did, and for listening to them instead of what the others did.’ And so on.” He watched her face collapse into bewilderment.

“That’s preposterous! We _did_ listen! Why, I even held court until even _I_ could barely keep my eyes open! We gods don’t need paltry things like sleep you know.” She preened just the slightest bit, the oriental fabrics draped across one shoulder catching the light despite the fur around her collar making an honest effort to take over her shoulder region. He rose a single brow, strangely feeling, despite no proof otherwise, that she wasn’t going to hurt him as long as he didn’t outright insult her. So, he pulled the same thing he did to his brother when Cuphead was throwing a particularly nasty tantrum. He went ‘plastic polite’.

“Goodness, surely if you listened, you’d be able to tell me what they said? I’m sure if I knew what you wanted to know I’d be able to help you better!” He said, voice earnest, blue eyes wide, smile sugar sweet. She cooed.

“Of course! Why didn’t I think to just tell you! You’ll have to forgive me, I often forget you mortals don’t have the ability nor magic to know what you weren’t there for. Which is a shame really! Why, I don’t know what I’d do if I had to listen to Cagney, especially in his state today! Have you seen him? He’s fuzzy I tell you! But that’s another story, I’ll certainly tell it to you of course, your sort loves a good story, and my voice is such a treat to listen to isn’t it!”

The longer Mugman remained silent, the more she sweat.

“Ahem, I… it’s…” She seemed to be at war with herself, trying to remain noble in appearance, but her twisting hands, all of them, and the twitchy jitter of her leg belied her true state. Mugman however, was patient. He hoped Cuphead, who was far less so, wouldn’t mind. Especially if he told his brother in red exactly why he had taken so long to either join Cuphead in death or revive him. Knowing Cuphead, he’d probably whine some more and laugh later when he thought Mugman couldn’t hear him.

“But really, it’s still such a mystery! I did everything right! Sure I can understand trapping Chalice, that gilded grump, but _me?_ Why, did you know some of them said that _I_ was the one that wasn’t explaining anything? I explicitly told them a good few centuries ago! I told them, ‘don’t kill these animals and bugs’ I said. I told them ‘I need them alive because they’re important for this region!’ and they listened for a hundred or so years and then went right back to it!”

He raised his hand the way he used to when Elder Kettle when on tangents and he desperately wanted to ask a question. He _still_ didn’t know how a camel and four chickens made Elder Kettle near froth at the mouth with indignation. She stared at the raised hand, blinking slowly as realization dawned even more slowly in her bright eyes. Next thing he knew, she had cleared the distance between them, and was hugging him with all four of her hands.

This proved to be a terrible decision thanks to the fact that one of his arms was heavily shackled to a wall with a chain that just _didn’t have the reach._ So when a sharp crack and a startled cry broke from the mortal she was cooing over, she panicked. Through hysterical apologies and hands that just didn’t know where to go beyond patting the air above the broken arm and the owner currently trying to reach the rest of said broken arm, she watched him pull a potion from the bag they’d left beside him, and start trying to fix the damage. As the green mixed with a steady stream of blue, she grew more pale.

“No, no! What are you—goodness!” She finally ripped the potion from his hand, her own illuminating with a warm spring green glow. “So fragile! My goodness! And the smell of death about you!” She cried, forcing as much of her magic as she could into fixing the wound. He got the feeling she’d fixed things he’d broken _years_ ago with how much magic she forced into his soul. He wouldn’t be surprised if his coloring was now teal.

Frazzled, checking the break for any stray cracks, she let go after giving him enough magic to power a small village. He felt slightly ill from the influx of it. Her comment about death just reminded him of Chalice, and he told her as much. She let off a worried hum.

“Little trouble magnet aren’t you! It’s so lucky you arrived here then! I really do need you for something I think only you can do, and it isn’t even dangerous. Why, I’m even willing to help you out if you can help me out! Answer my question and I’ll gladly visit that death bringer myself. Always wanted to lay a punch on that one since she betrayed her brother the way she did. Horrible really, poor Phantom doesn’t deserve the current state he’s in, really he doesn’t. Sweetest bunch of souls he was!”

“What question.” Mugman interrupted. He wasn’t going to ask her to attack a fellow deity, but if she could answer him about that potion, if he could get even a little closer to figuring out just what Cuphead had downed, he’d feel better. She didn’t seem at all angry at the interruption, just…bashful.

“Boy, I listened, but they still placed me here, so clearly, I didn’t hear what they were saying. I want you to be completely honest with me, tell me where I went wrong… I’m… I’m so tired.” She flopped onto the seat beside him, her massive form making the seat lurch up. He was sent into her lap, sprawled across rich silk. She returned him to his spot by her side absent mindedly, for which he was grateful. While glad she wasn’t going to kill him, he missed Baroness’s less flighty mannerisms. He felt safer around that goddess. This one, he wouldn’t be surprised if the goddess of life wound up taking his on accident.

“A ruler in a kingdom of isolation, insanity, and bitter hate. My own brother, brightest little carnation that one, reduced to a mumbling shell of himself. Inkwell, rejecting all of our pleas for a return to its former state. We’ve tried! Inkwell used to be the most gorgeous place you could find! Full of worshippers who needed rest or had an offering that took more than a day to arrive, beautiful skies always dotted with fluffy clouds and a bright sun. Fresh sea air, greenery to the very edge of the beaches, bursting with color… And worst of all, our Domains. All of us lost them! Have you any idea what it’s like to have something be there at your side, only to abandon you for reasons you just can’t understand? It’s painful, and I am _tired_. I’m meant to bring life, and here I am, wilting away. Oh to be able to call upon my Domain, tell it we’re crafting a new species or casting death from the side of a mother giving birth… But no. I’m here, with a fraction of my followers, my Domain hasn’t spoken to me in over however long… Not that I expect—”

“I think I know a few reasons why you’re here. But, why don’t you tell me why you think you’re here.” Mugman, not willing to listen to her tell him he didn’t know what it was like to lose someone, especially since he got the feeling her Domain leaving her was entirely her fault. Cuphead, he knew, would sooner punch the biggest, baddest deity on these Isles in the face before abandoning Mugman.

It was surprisingly difficult to bite back a laugh at the image of Cuphead delivering a swift kick to Beppi’s knee, or punching Cagney in the face. It got easier when he remembered that Cuphead couldn’t do that anymore. Instead of letting his mind fall into the pit of gloom prodding at his soul, he focused all of his attention on Rumor.

“Why, I’ve said one of them earlier. I _explicitly_ told mortals _not_ to kill certain creatures, and after a hundred or so years of obeying, they just stopped!”

“Who did you tell?”

“What?”

“Queen Honeybottoms, what sorts of beings did you ask? Elder Kettle said people like me and my brother can last centuries. He said we’d take at _least_ two centuries before we could be considered young adults to the other porcelain types. But he said people with blood instead of soul liquid last far shorter.” Once again, budding realization crossed over her face.

“I… I told the birds, and the…your kind don’t hunt very often... so I… They really don’t last long? Surely the canaries I spoke to last a good few hundred years! And even so, surely they’d tell their children?”

“Your requests could have become stories and legends perhaps? If you didn’t come to the area often, they might have just forgotten who exactly put that rule out there.”

“Darling, I’m a queen, we don’t just visit peasants such as…oh...” Really, he didn’t think his expression should have warranted her cheeks flaring red in embarrassment. But then, he was finding how the Queen seemed to be so tired not even her desire to appear regal could keep her reactions at bay anymore. He almost felt bad for her, almost, because he didn’t know exactly what else she had done.

“Well then what about all those ungrateful women! They would get so rude when their baby was stillborn! But do you know how difficult it is to fend off Chalice or Phantom while pushing life into a little mortal? I certainly won’t ever apologize for breaking the necks of those who were just going to be rude or die anyway! I mean, they don’t see _me_ minding when they remove the life by their own, quaint methods! Plenty more to add another member of the species lined up right behind the ones that _don’t_ want to, but to then turn on me when _I_ end a life… I, _me_ , _the ruler of fertility,_ _who knows when the baby isn’t going to survive, or the mother isn’t, so hours of labor is pointless_ —”

“Wait…you… broke the necks of mothers giving birth?” He vaguely recalled Elder Kettle saying his potions designed to aid women during child birth and labor—and what _that_ was, he had _no_ clue—were his most popular potions. He assumed that meant bringing a new life into the world was stressful, mostly because _he_ was stressed when he needed a healing potion, or his brother did. Elder Kettle didn’t speak about it anymore except to paint a picture of screaming and bloodshed and more screaming followed by abuse of anyone nearby. Thus, Mugman and Cuphead just continued to assume birth and labor during birth were horrible, terrible things, and were to be avoided at all costs.

Knowing that, he imagined being in pain, with his soul liquid everywhere, and probably Cuphead’s handle in his hands because Cuphead would most definitely be the closest to take his pain out on, he imagined Elder Kettle coming in and trying to kill him while he was in that sorry state, with Cuphead too busy trying to comfort him and not get hit anymore, unable to stop Elder Kettle. He didn’t wonder why it was so easy to picture their caretaker trying to end their lives. End his life. He didn’t think he’d be keen on Elder Kettle going anywhere near his injured brother if he’d heard Elder Kettle broke porcelain instead of fixed them.

“Of course! Their child was dead anyway, or it would kill them coming out. I was doing them a favor!”

“But wait, what if something happened and the child turned out okay? Or…” He recalled bright green eyes and a mischievous grin. “What if luck turned for the better, and you just ended lives that would have made it had you just done what you did with me?”

“Nonsense. Your kind are far too fragile.”

“But what _if?_ ” He pressed, trying to get her to understand. Some small part of him tossed mental hands in the air, screaming about how odd it was that a twelve-year-old was trying to reason with a deity likely hundreds of years older than him. She sighed deeply, back returning to its straight position. So he tried a different angle.

“What if, by sheer chance… What if a god popped out of nowhere, and fixed those like him? Say you heard about something or other having the ability to return gods to the way they were before being trapped on Inkwell, right?”

“Why, if I heard that, I’d consider selling whatever I have that counts as a soul to that fiendish Devil to get my brother help! I’d move mountains for it!”

“Now, say the person gets here, takes a look at him, says they don’t think he’ll make it…and then burns him to ash.” She reared back, painted lips pulling up into a snarl so deep and dangerous he pressed himself into the other side of the seat, curling up as small as he could. Her nails burrowed into the lush fabric, her hands snapped the wood under them into tiny pieces. Malice filled gaze locking onto his own nervous one, she answered him without using words.

“See! Imagine hearing this person who was said to heal people killed your brother instead, and then picture seeing others go to them for help you know they might not give! Imagine learning the person actually used to heal, but now they just destroy whatever they themselves deem unsalvageable!” His voice shook in places, but the fact that he got all the words out without her crushing him was good enough in his book. The seething Goddess relaxed just enough to tell him he _might_ be meeting Cuphead earlier than expected, rather than he _definitely_ would be in the next few seconds.

“I’d tell them to not bother with that fellow, that he was worse than useless.” He pointedly stared at her, letting his own silence speak for itself. She took longer to follow his line of thought, but after a solid chunk of silence, of staring at him and then at his posture, the clear tension and fear in it, she lost all color on her face. She stood up, moving away from him, her movements stiff. He watched her pace back and forth for a little while, taking a few deep breaths to ease his rattling. Finally, she turned to face him, her face shadowed, eyes wide with fear for something he didn’t know.

“Boy, you’ve run into a few of us so…How do _you_ see us?” Her voice was weak, nervous, agitated… scared.

“I wouldn’t have gone near here if it hadn’t been for something my brother did. To me, a fragile little mortal, you… You’re all terrifying.” He finished simply, earnestly, looking directly into her eyes so she could see exactly how honest he was being.

====-====-====-====

To a Goddess, so used to being loved, being cherished and adored, the sight of a mortal, one of her precious ones, a young one full of vitality and of her Domain’s gift as he was, the plain honesty made her drop heavily into her throne. Rumor had never once considered that the people didn’t hate her, she’d simply assumed the little fragile things had needed a breather from the others, and she’d simply gotten caught up.

For years, she assumed they’d realize their mistake and take their Queen back, begging for her forgiveness. Of course, she’d give them forgiveness. She long stopped wishing to craft a new plague after the first twenty-five years passed.

But they never did.

She remained trapped on the Isles. Any attempts to breathe life into Inkwell was met by harsh, violent rejection. Cagney too, had been rebuffed. His garden was likely the only bright, chipper place on any of the Isles not bound in a building like Sally’s stage. He’d slipped before she’d even realized what was going on.

She wanted to rebuke the mortal, tell him she wasn’t scary, she was noble and to be adored instead of avoided. But there he sat, curled into a little ball, barely taking up a quarter of the seat. Pieces of his frail arm laid scattered around the shackle. She could see the wariness in his gaze, and the fact that he thought the Goddess who brought life would snuff out one who carried her gift, with not a shred of illness about him to put the gift at risk, crushed her heart. She noted how, despite her moving away, he still hadn’t relaxed enough to be considered content.

She needed time to take everything in.

At a thought, her guards returned. They carefully ushered the boy back out. She saw a pair of them sneak him some honeycomb, muttering to him that it would heal him better than the potions would. She watched him glance back at her in growing panic, but there was so much distance, and the elevator doors were closing before he could get more than a word out to one of the guards.

She rested two arms on her thighs, using the other two to prop up her chin, mulling over the various actions of her past.

She sat like that for a good ten minutes until her drifting vision caught sight of the book he’d been carrying around. She opened it to the page that seemed most worn, one with a potion she was _very_ familiar with. For a minute, she wondered why Elder Kettle would have made the potion again. A new Deity hadn’t been seen for three hundred years. Why he’d be brewing it up confused her. Until she thought of just how odd Elder Kettle had been before they’d gotten stuck. How he’d gotten more lax in ensuring experimental potions weren’t automatically lethal unless intended.

 She recalled coming across the remains of one of his potion experiments gone wrong. Saw the bodies, bloated to bursting, swollen faces of students of his locked in unimaginable agony, blank eyes staring at nothing. At least, the ones not being plucked out by the scavengers. Then she envisioned the little mortal, being kept as a sacrifice for the future deity. Perhaps his sibling was the deity, she thought. Perhaps Elder Kettle figured keeping the blood sibling around would entice the deity sibling to appear faster.

She then realized Elder Kettle wasn’t the only one who’d been doing experiments like that to mortals before being trapped on Inkwell.

And then she heard some of the bugs roaming about chattering about a mortal being caught by Kahl’s pet robot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why am I back earlier? Pneumonia. Bad Pneumonia. That thing isn't a joke.... I've never seen nurses so worried about me before. The thing I was doing had to be paused, so here I am, relearning how to write. If this chapter isn't the grand re-opening y'all were hoping for....don't worry, I'll find my groove again.   
> And things taken from the perspective of others! joy of joys! Rumor marks the second one to realize her mistakes, albeit, she might or might not fully understand where she went wrong. She'll figure it out, I'm sure.  
> As well as whispers belonging to things unseen being heard by the brother in blue, surely this only bodes well and he's absolutely going to be safe as can be now!   
> Now, if memory serves, Grim and Cagney rest in the belly of the beast. Whether that turns out to be a bad thing will be shown in the next chapter.


	13. Flights of Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cuphead sheds some weight, Mugman sheds some faith in the mercy of the gods around him.

Cuphead felt _heavy._ His feet dragged with his every step the moment he was out of sight of Bon Bon. His Domain rumbled, and he got the feeling that had his Domain had a physical body, it would be on its’ back, round belly up in the air. It rumbled again, as if reading his thoughts and finding them silly, but did nothing else. He didn’t even have to ask if it had to do with having two other Domain’s resting on his shoulders, the answer was obvious. He wondered if it had anything to do with one of them simply refusing to leave his Domain, since, he was quite sure the nature god was done.

_‘Perhaps it is simply me adapting? You are surrounded by corruption, and I have been eating as much as I can since you have crossed the barrier.’_

‘So…you have more room than before?’

_‘It might be the case, or you are indeed correct in saying it is due to one Domain being complete, simply unwilling to leave without repaying his debt.’_

‘Whatever the reason, he better hope I don’t get mauled because he’s making me feel like I’m walking through tar.’

_‘Did that often enough to know the feeling?’_

‘Potion gone wrong.’

His Domain remained silent, though the confusion lingered well past the remains of the large tent crossing over the path. The confusion only grew stronger when they passed what looked to be a bird triage center, with a lone bird being tended to by a bunch of other birds wearing tiny hats. Cuphead, trying to figure out how to reason with a god inside his own Domain—because really, the fixed one _had to go—_ just blinked at the scene for a few seconds longer than usual. Then he shuffled on, muttering about how he was _absolutely_ getting sick of gods doing whatever they wanted even after being fixed up. He wasn’t in the mood for banter. Not with something that wasn’t responding and was essentially freeloading.

That is, the nature god wasn’t responding to _him._ He had about three odd seconds to realize the odd snapping sensation was directed at the new thing that was above him.

When a massive bird, patchy and gross, landed on the ground before Cuphead, great gust of wind knocking Cuphead clean off his feet and into the scraggly remains of a bush, there _was_ a response. The bush, suddenly sprouting leaves to cushion his fall, startled his attacker. Wally, Cuphead recognized thanks to his memory dredging up the book he’d read before stepping foot on the Isles, tilted his head back.

Wally, despite having a beak, _snarled_ at Cuphead. His feathers, the ones not covered in bits of rotten flesh not his own, fluffed up. Cuphead tried to throw himself out of the bush. Though he was grateful it caught him, he wasn’t keen on lingering. The wind god looked four seconds from finding out what Cuphead’s insides looked like if the talons digging into the dirt were any indication. He also didn’t think his Domain _really_ needed to dig into Wally’s past. Not that it stopped his Domain from doing so.

Cuphead was impressed. He thought the dragon would have had the highest kill count of the gods thus far. That is, until he watched the wind god lead ships laden with people grateful for what they thought to be a sign of a safe journey to watery graves below the waves stirred up by monstrous storms. Though, even that wasn’t truly enough to make him arch his brow. That honor went to Djimmi—cruel grin on full display—granting Wally’s wish for his child to be just as a god in immortality. Sure, he could be freaked out by how batty the bird was, especially around his sibling, but most every other deity had been like that. This was something different. This was something he could use to come after fixing gods from a different angle. Mostly because he flat out wasn’t up to fighting. He didn’t even have the will to lift a hand and just shoot the clearly antagonistic avian.

A cushioned fall didn’t make up for weighing him down to the point where he couldn’t avoid the swipe of a wing despite knowing it was coming. The responding laugh that thought got from the culprit lazing about in where ever things went when judged was salt on the wound.

Cuphead flew back, his back slamming into the decrepit tent, causing it to fall on top of him. He felt his chest crack on the wing’s impact, spidering across his shoulders and stomach. The landing only jarred the fracture, and he laid flat on his back as if he’d had the air knocked out of him. He let his Domain do the angry cursing as he tried to pull himself up into a sitting position, or at least get out of the fabric tomb he’d been sent into. His feather blazing like the sun was his only warning as his ankle was grabbed and he was pulled out of the pool of rotted fabric violently.

“This is thanks for your wench of a brother hurting one of my birds!” Wally hissed, talons gripping tighter until Cuphead heard another crack from his calf. He bet at the rate he was going he’d be a top contender in a wind-chime competition. The blazing wrath pouring from his Domain was impressive, but, as Wally dropped him and proceeded to try stomping Cuphead into smithereens, ultimately useless. Cuphead managed to roll away in time, but his arms were like his Domain, useless. The fractures were too great for his limbs to respond to his soul’s call.

The bright glow of the feather spread across the cracks as his Domain tried fixing him as fast as he could. With two Domains within, and no arms, Cuphead was a sitting duck with a smarmy mouth. Had Cuphead been made of flesh, the broken body would have had him sobbing. Porcelain though, porcelain didn’t feel it enough beyond knowing it should hurt and it was wrong. As such, Cuphead was able to ignore the grinding screech of his body’s repair easily. Allowing him to focus more on avoiding Wally’s angry strikes. If there was one plus, it was that Wally’s wind was having little effect on him. Until Cuphead spotted the clouds spinning above them both.

Cuphead internally despaired, he’d been looking forward to talking to this deity, seeing if it was his child turning into a freaky zombie thing that made him turn into a jerk. As it stood, the constant dodging, even with a mostly repaired leg letting him push off and twist out of the way faster, wasn’t giving him a single moment to talk. From the corner of his eye he saw the child, staring out at the fight. Empty sockets, peeling grin, gleaming wires; it was enough to make Cuphead pause in horror. It was one thing to see a malformed child in another persons’ memory, another to see it in real life. Of course the pause was all Wally needed.

Cuphead more saw than felt the sharp talon pierce his chest. He vaguely wondered if Wally assumed he was one of those that would die upon having their chest gouged in. He mentally laughed at the bird, about as well as his dazed mind could Then his mind fell under his Domain’s rumbling roars. Though, the roaring was far louder than usual, Cuphead noted, since the ground was actually shaking. He knew that couldn’t be Wally, since the bird was pressing as much of his weight as he could on the young gods body. Cuphead hoped he’d be able to learn just what his Domain did to Wally after he was revived. The ground was soaked, his soul liquid pouring out faster than it could be replenished.

“What’s even better? I don’t have to worry about some sibling coming after me for this for a while. I think I’ll toss you to the sky and see how long it takes you to repair yourself.” Wally sounded haughty, but Cuphead was more invested in figuring out why the ground sounded _angry_.

Then spiked vines speared out of the ground, threading around Wally’s body, heaving him up into the air. Some of the vines looked oddly hand like, and as Cuphead’s sluggish mind caught up, he realized it was because it was a hand. A hand that closed around Wally’s beak and dragged the wind god’s head towards the vivid yellow and orange face of Cagney Carnation. The vast amount of soul liquid loss was making it hard for Cuphead to do anything but laugh at the shock Wally sported.

“Wally! Bud! It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Cagney, mouth full of teeth three rows deep spoke like one would to a dear friend. The vines scoring heavy lines into Wally’s flesh did not. Wally must have tried moving his mouth, because Cagney’s already wide grin simply grew more. “What? I can’t hear you over the sound of your house going down. Didn’t you say something about scattering him to the wind? _Great idea_.” The innocent batting of non-existent lashes mixed with the cute tilt of a terrifying head made Cuphead suspicious that perhaps Cagney was lying. Then the birdhouse was soaring up into the air.

Definitely lying.

The wind kicked up violently, a tornado bursting to life around the building. It looked as if the wind itself was trying to catch the thing to protect the cargo inside. Cagney, despite being buffeted by the wind, merely laughed. Cuphead found himself protected from the wind by a thick vine rising just enough to shield him from the worst of it. His Domain _rumbled_ , his shadow roiled, wrath bubbled below him, it sort of tickled. The young god would laugh but it was difficult enough keeping his eyes open.

Then, as the house was breaking on impact, the wind unable to truly get ahold of it, and as Wally’s enraged, terrified cries burst from under Cagney’s heavy grip, everything…froze. The house stopped, the screaming stopped, the wind stopped, everything stopped.

“I’m gone…for not even _an hour_ … An hour! And someone picks a fight with…Cagney?” Cuphead recognized that voice, and considering there was no other sound to distort it, he didn’t have to even have to see to know the wish god had decided to show up. The house settled back in place gently as the wish god and the nature god stared at one another.

“Cagney?” Djimmi said again, jaw hanging somewhere between his solar plexus and knee caps. Cagney broke Wally’s beak in response, almost idly if the raised eyebrows and expectant stare were anything to go by. Cuphead, feeling a mite vindictive, snickered at Wally’s more shocked than pained cry. The noise drew Djimmi’s attention to him, and before he knew it he was fully repaired with a wave of unfamiliar magic. He groaned, rolling onto his stomach and hauling himself up. His legs wobbled, but held firm, his mind however, remained sluggish. No amount of unfamiliar magic could replace soul liquid.

“Has anyone ever told you that you look like you had just enough time to work out one part of your body and just kept forgetting the lower half?” Cuphead slurred out, vision distorted. His Domain rumbled in a more subdued manner, shadows reaching up to stabilize the porcelain child. Djimmi, rightfully confused, weakly shook his head. Hysterical laughter from above, giving away the similarly red Hilda Berg, answered for the wish god.

“Hilda!”

“Cagney!”

Wally angrily shouted unintelligible things at Djimmi. Djimmi arched a brow. Hilda leaned heavily on Djimmi’s back, angled so she could see Cuphead face to face. If Cuphead wasn’t the porcelain version of concussed, he’d have noticed just how much happier Hilda looked. How much more clear-headed she seemed to be. Most he noticed in his state though, was how funny her hat was. Djimmi seemed to regain himself in that moment, rubbing his temples in frustrated annoyance. Cuphead squinted at him.

“Well, I don’t know why the guy that turned a kid into a weird undead fella is acting like a breezy fight is annoying.” The young god grumbled loudly, though, the rest noted how he was now using the vine that had been blocking the wind as a wall to lean against. “I mean… I’d think the _first_ thing I’d do if I turned someone’s kid into…. _that…_ is apologize t’ them and fix it. But hey! That’s just… me. Course I also wouldn’t’a gone making wishes with _that_ guy. Have you seen what he did to one gal? She wanted to get rid of her freckles an’ he skinned her!” Cuphead’s voice turned conspiratorial as he leaned closer to Wally and Cagney.

“Yeah, I have no room to talk kid.” Cagney replied, far less pointy grin still toothy and wide. Wally hissed at Djimmi. “I think I turned at least three towns into plant food.”

“That guy sunk _entire_ boats.” Cuphead whispered, draped across the vine as he was, he spoke more into the ground than he did to Cagney. Even so, the nature god heard it clearly, and nodded sagely.

“Entire boats indeed.”

“Good to see you back Carnation.” Hilda called out, her pose mimicking Cuphead’s, though she was draped across her brother’s shoulder instead. She pat Djimmi on the shoulder she was currently using as a cushion, pointing to the broken beaked god. “You uh, want to go about fixing that?” The ponderous note was drowned by her light stare.

“I think there was a ship too.” Cuphead flopped over onto a vine hastily brought up by the nature god. Cagney’s face contorted as he tried biting back uproarious laughter.

“Oh damn, a ship too?” He bit out through snorts and snickers. Cuphead nodded, groaned, and curled up as best he could on the vines. Vines which tightened exponentially around Wally, though the owner of the vines pretended to not be aware of doing so. Wally, hissing deeply, couldn’t seem to decide who to glare at more. The Wish god or the Nature god, evidently the bird had decided he’d gotten enough revenge on the sibling to the one who’d harmed one of his birds and abandoned his son so rudely.

“Ah!” Cuphead lurched into a sitting position, head swaying, dropping until it clanked on his shoulders, only to pop back up to its normal spot a couple inches above. He squinted at Djimmi, eyes a vivid gold. “You helped break ‘im, fix it. Break it and buy it an’ all that!” Then, nodding firmly, he wobbled his way past a very amused Cagney, kicked Wally in the shin, as per his self-made promise, and continued on down the way. His Domain wanted to protest, believing a good flaying or two would be a more adequate response to the beat down the god had given him. But it also dearly wanted to focus on replenishing his soul liquid, something that took concentration, careful attention, so it settled for knowing they’d be coming back, and when they did, they’d have their Scale with them.

===-=====-=====-====

Cuphead staggered past the destroyed tomb, only stopping to see if the goddess at the top of his hit list was present. Upon confirmation that she wasn’t, he gave a cursory examination to the shredded bodies, looking like victims of her wrath more than the servant status they portrayed in Grim’s memories. He wound up staring at the spot he knew his brother had been, dazed eyes growing more and more focused as they lingered on the blackened blue soul liquid stain on the marble.

The other’s had made mistakes, had broken his brother, cracked him, drugged him, but this one, this goddess, had taken it a step further. Yet, that familiar wrath he felt within his soul wasn’t accompanied by his Domain’s.

His Domain, reading the questioning prodding, grinned.

Cuphead decided he didn’t need to know any more than that. With his mind just a bit clearer, he continued on, staggering on occasion, limbs feeling both heavier and lighter at the same time.  He had an Isle waiting for him, but most importantly, he had his brother waiting for him.

It would only be after he’d closed the door to the die house behind him that he’d realize he hadn’t asked about the Devil at all. It was also at that point he realized he had almost died a second time; would have had Djimmi not stepped in.

It was the first time he truly realized just how out of his depth he was, and how lucky he’d been thus far. His Domain remained quiet, but, Cuphead got the distinct impression that the next thing to swing at him wasn’t going to make it out in one piece.

Had he turned around, he’d have been answered by a far too wide grin, full of malicious promise hidden within his far too large shadow.

===-====-===-====

Mugman had lost his book.

The intimidating goddess had it.

He’d lost his book, and he’d been shooed away from the doors faster than he could open his mouth to request it back. So, there he stood, staring up at the building, debating just how helpful the book had really been. If he considered the times he’d used it as a weapon, it was all but useless. Not a single deity he’d come across had been able to answer him. He was fairly certain this mission had become a true lost cause. But then, he hadn’t held his breath _too_ much. Despite losing the one thing he needed, he figured, in for a penny and all that, he might as well see about asking the Devil or the Phantom Express if they’d seen his sibling. First though, he had to figure out how to get there with minimal interactions. Something he’d yet to do despite his best efforts.

He was under the growing impression that Inkwell was somehow doing it on purpose. Sure, he had no evidence beyond the odd feeling that had been growing since the second Isle. But he would bet the rest of his candy stash that the Isles were alive, and was intentionally luring either him to the gods or vice versa. So when something in him whispered for him to go towards the docks, he figured he’d return the favor with spite.

He went back to the arch and proceeded to follow the road up.

Later, much later, he’d ask Cuphead to smack him for it.

That was later, this was now, and now, he was trying to suppress his rattling. The air was _heavy_ , thick, shrouding the buildings, hiding things away that were shuffling around just beyond his clear sight. Mugman, bag far lighter than it had been, felt exposed. Not enough to try checking any of the houses though. For all he knew, mortal survivors were watching him from windows he only saw glints of, or stepped on the remains of.

At one point, a stop light shrieked out a warped wail, sending Mugman darting to the other side of the street. The mountains, obscured by the fog, peeked at him through the briefest patches of clear air. At one point, Mugman caught the glint of eyes, of teeth easily as big as Cagney was tall; it didn’t take him long to scurry on, head buried between his hunched shoulders. The rumbling only made it easier for him to go further into the depths of Inkwell Isle Three.

====-====-====-====

The road was blocked. Not just by a sign, no, that would be too _easy_. Mounds of what had to be scrap metal piled twice his height barricaded the path forward. To his left, a high fence, his right was blocked off by buildings. Wrapping his arms around his sides, keeping his profile as small as possible, he turned. The thing telling him what to do was back, this time, it was nearly forcing him to head back the way he came. But force would be the wrong way to describe how his feet carried him. He didn’t want to go back up the way the fence had split, the left path. There were louder noises that way, and the fog grew even thicker when he’d taken a few steps in that direction. Spite didn’t hold a candle to his common sense, so, he obeyed the feeling.

The perks of having high paranoia in a place where high paranoia was genuinely warranted, was that when the air shifted behind him, when the feeling of being inches from something that hadn’t been there before grew, he was ready. Unlike the time with Hilda, he dipped low and threw himself to the side, rolling on his shoulders, popping back up before the metal claw could close on his handle.

Mugman couldn’t wait to tell Cuphead he got to see a giant robot before Cuphead did.

Surprisingly, unlike everything else on this Isle, it was shiny, well kept, clean, and cast a nasty light from an odd contraption on its head. He didn’t fancy that light falling on him, figuring it was a search light of some sort. He listened as it let out a displeased hiss, arms reaching for him again. Unimpressed, and entirely unwilling to waste time trying to figure out just what the things intentions were, he ran.

Once again glad he was quick on his feet. The clanging behind him only told him it was trying to keep him in range. The fact that he hadn’t heard it before made him wonder if it had hidden its steps in the ambience of the Isles or its limbs could extend. Whatever the case, he nimbly leapt over some debris fallen from a building to his left, aiming for the building next to it. With any luck, he could cut through the place to the other side of the path. The robot behind him, heavy, lumbering, doggedly followed him as fast as it could, eerie gouge in its face giving it the appearance of amused malignance.

Slamming the heavy, surprisingly sturdy door behind him, he only caught a glimpse of that sight; he didn’t feel like seeing it again. Then there was a sound ahead of him, towards the front, because of course it couldn’t be a quick hop skip to the front and freedom. He was now stuck in an unknown building with an ill-intentioned robot behind him and a potential threat in front of him. The only good bit was that whatever was coming his way was heavy, and couldn’t see him, thanks to the fact that the room he was in had a door blocking him from the rest of the house. Two doors really, one to his left and one in front of him.

“ _What rat is crawling about the Two-Tone Club?”_ The tinny voice coming from the door in front of him led him to the other door. Carefully easing it open, once again surprised by the quiet give the door gave him, speaking of someone taking care of it, his animosity towards the Isle grew sharply. It was a powder room, with a cracked marble sink, wallpapered walls covered in scratch marks; but most importantly, no exit. He turned, deciding it would be just as stupid to hide in the room, but at least a bit more spacious. Of course, the moment he did, he wound up face first in someone else’s chest. He shifted back, caught an eye-full of arched brows and a monocle of all things, and once again short circuited.

“Oh I’m terribly sorry, I’ll only be a moment.” He said politely, then stepped back into the powder room, to the bafflement of the person before him, and closed the door. Pressing his bright blue face into his hands didn’t do much to muffle the embarrassed groan. Just as the door did little to block the sound of someone reaching for a jingling set of what could only be keys.

He gazed at the door, wondering just how much worse his next actions could really be, all things considered. Then decided, he was probably going to die anyway, so he might as well just go for broke.

The keys turned the lock, the person turned the handle, but they weren’t the ones to open it.

“All done!” Mugman cheerfully called out as he slammed all of his weight into the door. Because it opened to the outside, he wound up squishing the person behind it. There was an ‘oompf!’, but Mugman was far more focused on the door left open by the other person. He beat a hasty retreat, slamming the door shut behind him. He thought he heard the person say something like ‘Mertle’ or something close, but the doors in this building were thick, so it was hard to tell. It didn’t slow him down, nor did it make him turn. He made for the front door, and because few things could go right for him for long, it was locked.

He spun around, determined to at least attempt to keep one step ahead of the things after him. The entrance wasn’t devoid of other paths, which was helpful. Especially since one of them had the person he’d been avoiding striding down it with purpose. He shifted to his left, caught the eager twist of the metal person’s lips, and went right instead.

The building was the epitome of faded glory. The plush carpets were soft; but decades of fog, no cleanings, left it a dull ghost of itself. The walls too, stained by streaks of black and aged paper, only showed solemn echoes of a luxurious past. It was obvious that though this place could have rivaled Rumor’s high rise long ago, it now resembled a ‘could have’ for how the tower might have looked without her care. Mugman would have admired the paintings, decrepit though they were, but the fork was keeping up with him, calling for him to stop.

“No thank you!” He said over his shoulder as his hand snapped out to snag on a staircase banister. He threw himself up the stairs, barely dodging the far too close lunge from the metal being. It was evident that the man wasn’t used to so much action, as even the small amount of running he’d done had him breathing heavily. Mugman, younger and used to playing hard, had no trouble upping his own speed to a full sprint. Just enough to get the distance required for him to slam a door shut in the forks face. He toppled a nearby dresser down in front of the door, the thundering crash drowning out whatever the fork had said.

Mugman looked around his temporary safe room, taking in the well-kept furniture, dusty though it was. The smell of mildew still overpowered any other scent, but the fog would have allowed for nothing less. He wondered how long it would take to make a quick line with the sheets so he could have a way to the ground below. Despite knowing he was on the same side the robot was, careful listening near the window revealed a lack of the contraption. Then he wondered if he might be able to reach one of the other close buildings from the roof of this one. That idea died when he remembered how poorly the last time he tried climbing something went. He didn’t fancy shattering his back again, and that was attempting to ascend a perfectly dry tree his brother had easily scaled not five seconds before him.

As he stood near the window, he caught the sight of something shiny outside. It looked quite like the fork that should have been stuck behind the still closed door. His soul helpfully realized that outside was coated in a fog too dense for the window to show much of anything outside. Meaning that the reflection wasn’t out there, it was in the room. He twisted away from the reaching hands, spotting a secret entrance popped open on the wall across from him, behind the fork.

“Now, good glory, don’t be rude!” The fork scolded, throwing himself at Mugman. Mugman, far more agile, twisted again, dancing away from the frustration filled lunge. He didn’t bother responding to the fork, choosing to move so the bed was between them. The fork, quickly realizing his tactics were useless, changed things up.

“I feel like you’ve given me no chance to explain my actions, boy. My name is Forkington, this here is my club!” Forkington’s voice, oddly tinny and nasally at the same time, didn’t ease Mugman’s paranoia at all. Perhaps it was the way the fork was dressed so richly despite being on an Isle full of lethal gods. Or maybe it was the fact that he didn’t trust anyone who stayed on these isles despite having an opportunity to leave. The fork wasn’t a god, that much was certain, which meant he wasn’t bound to the Isles the way the gods were. Which told Mugman there was something keeping the man in a place that had been less than hospitable to him. Whatever the reason, the porcelain child didn’t trust the other.

The fork, evidently waiting for Mugman to reciprocate the name exchange, didn’t let his disappointment show when Mugman didn’t. He adjusted his posh clothing, fixing his appearance rather uselessly to fill the silence. Mugman thought he saw a few loose threads dangling about under the collar and sleeves of the overcoat, but couldn’t be sure. He shifted his weight to his heel, ready to run at a moments notice.

“Now see, this club of mine is, how to put…selective! Yes, selective in who is allowed in here. You, hmm, don’t quite fit? Yes, you’re a bit too…”

“If you would unlock the front door and stay away from me, I’ll gladly leave.” Mugman, taking the pause to talk, replied, voice stage-levels of polite. He bat his lashes at the man, clasping his hands together in front of his chest. The fork seemed to turn an odd coppery shade around his face at the display. Forkington waved his hands in front of himself, weak smile on his face, copper fading but his gaze lingering fully on Mugman.

“That isn’t to say you’d never be welcome of course! But you see, there are criteria to meet! Very _easy_ criteria I must say. I’m nothing if not kind. It just takes a quick visit to the great Dr. Kahl and you’ll be allowed to stay as long as you want!”

“I’m not interested.” Mugman, who’d been watching the other try to subtly move into a pouncing position, waited for the exact second Forkington lunged to throw the untucked blanket he’d noticed in the beginning right at the man’s face. Then, as Forkington tried to tear the blanket off his tines, muffled curses spewing more frustration than an expression ever could, Mugman went for the secret entrance. Being smaller meant he only had to drop his head into his hands and bend his knees a bit to fit. Which made it far easier to gain some distance on the other. He slammed the small door shut behind him, popping out the other side and into a storage room.

Putting his head back above his shoulders, he threw open the door, making for the stairs once more. He figured if he could find a window on the side of the front entrance he’d just break it and escape that way. It was better than staying in the building any longer than he had, but as he was turning towards the rooms to the left of the entrance, his body shuddered, and he began coughing once more. His steps faltered, and he staggered into the wall, hands flying up to cover his mouth. His body heaved, frail porcelain unused to the violent hacking, cracking and chipping. He tried to stop, tried to regain enough control to suppress it enough to get out of the building.

Two steel arms wrapping around his upper torso crushed any hopes of escaping without a fight. The fork cooed at him, patting his back with one free hand, the other remaining tightly gripped around his chest. As the coughing fit died, the pats on his back shifted to his other arm, the one not gripped already.

“See now that’s just the thing the visit will fix! Though I must say I don’t recall seeing many of your kind having such fits.” Forkington, despite trying to sound soothing, managed only to increase Mugman’s fear. Weakened by the coughing fit, he couldn’t even move his arms at all, Forkington’s hold far too strong. He felt the fork start dragging him backwards, then towards the back of the building.

“Let go!” Mugman tried tearing the other’s hands off him, despite knowing it was a lost cause. Forkington lost his footing, just enough for Mugman to get one arm free and twist away. Forkington didn’t fully let go though, instead he switched his grip so he held both of Mugman’s upper arms with Mugman facing him. The jolting also caused sparks to shoot out from under his sleeves, which was the thing that clued Mugman in.

Elder Kettle, despite being metal as well, and a god no less, wasn’t this strong. The boys always managed to squirm out of his grip, but that could have something to do with Elder Kettle not wanting to truly hurt them. Even so, Mugman had never held much faith that their old caretaker had strength for days, like this fork some how did. The threads weren’t threads.

They were wires.

The wires must have done something to Forkington, or the horror on Mugman’s face was blatant enough that it was too hard to ignore. Whatever it was, the way he held himself, the barely-there friendliness, vanished. It was replaced by a far too eerie stare, a far too wide grin, and a grip so tight his arms began to chip under the pressure.

“Don’t you worry, he’ll surely fix you.” Even his voice was different. Mugman tried to get one of his legs up so he could attempt to kick the man away. Instead he wound up pressed hard enough into Forkington’s chest that it hurt. Forkington’s arm locking around his lower back like a vise. The other coming up to rest his palm on Mugman’s cheek. “It’s wonderful, it really is. I had my doubts too of course, there’s very little finesse in being an experiment but he’s quite polite. Kept the wires in place easy to hide he did! Survival, protecting my club, it’s all easier.” Forkington rambled on. He kept rambling even as the window behind them shattered. Even as a claw locked around Mugman’s handle, and a metal arm coiled around his waist.  Even as he let go of the porcelain boy, and the robot that had finally caught up lifted him off the ground to pull him out of the house.

“I’m so excited to see just how much—” Mugman, one arm trapped under the metal coil, the other trying to tear the robot’s limbs off, lashed out. Before he was carried through the window and off to the area he’d avoided earlier, he left a sizeable mark on Forkington’s face with a solid kick. He even got the pleasure of seeing Forkington stagger back, a surprised squawk tearing out from him. Oddly enough, as Forkington had kept himself spotlessly gleamingly clean, Mugman caught sight of his reflection. And though he knew his eyes were blue, for a moment, the split second he could still see himself, his eyes weren’t blue, but a vivid, burning gold.

He’d ponder that later, when he wasn’t being carried away unwillingly. For now, he was more focused on looking for any possibility of escape.

====-====-====-====

“I’d heard about a new mortal wandering about the Isles but hadn’t believed it! Didn’t think you had the creativity to make it here, much less last long enough to make it this far!” Mugman’s first impression of the God was one filled with annoyance. Held in a way that left his feet dangling just above the ground, he wasn’t able to do much to the rather hunched deity.

“My brother often had the better ideas so I’m sure you see the reasoning behind my deduction? That, and you’re clearly wearing Bon Bon’s work. The bag is new of course! Good bit of innovation with the—” Kahl narrowly avoided the kick that would have likely broken his nose, chuckling heartily as he fixed his glasses. He gestured for the robot to carry the mortal over to an intimidating metal table, complete with restraints bolted onto it.

It was right around this point that Mugman decided that the die given to him by the God of Fortune was definitely a bad luck magnet.

====-====-====-====

“I can’t believe that rust heap didn’t teach you about his fellow gods.”

“I can’t believe you have all of this innovation and yet not a single working radio.”

“I have a bone saw.”

“I have no bones.”

After a moments pause, the god quietly put the saw back down, squinting at Mugman the whole time.

====-====-====-====-====

Kahl had given him a healing potion, but not before stripping off his shirt so he could watch the cracks spidering across Mugman’s body seal up. He’d said something about rarely having a porcelain sort to examine. Which didn’t inspire much confidence in said porcelain sort.

“Sure, it’s mostly because you lot know how to hide your secrets and stay out of my minions grasp. Selfish actions I must say, this time though, I’ve caught one!”

“It wasn’t really you, more your other helpers if we’re going to be specific.”

“Fair point. I’m surprised you aren’t sobbing and begging to be let go!” Kahl, prodded at Mugman’s shoulders, examining the area where a neck would normally be.

“I don’t try things I know won’t work. I learned that the hard way.” Mugman, though not crying and sobbing, didn’t sound completely fearless either. Kahl didn’t seem to mind though, that, or he was too focused on whatever he was looking for.

“Back to my other point. Selfish! Could you imagine the things, the i _nventions, the leaps and bounds science could do if your lot shared secrets!_ Let us carve a few of you apart and we could have levitating homes!”

“I’m sure Miss. Hilda would love that idea.” Mugman intoned, somewhat glad Kahl hadn’t lowered the table, leaving it angled up instead. It made it easier to keep his eyes on Kahl, though, with his wrists and ankles bound to the table, he wasn’t sure what he could do exactly. He’d been using the route that had saved him a couple times, but it had been a good half hour of mindless chatter. He was getting desperate for some way of breaking free.

“That silly airhead wouldn’t know what to make of it. She’s too busy grumbling to her telescope. Which, I might add, she has yet to let me or my brother touch! We could make it better, but no! All we get for an answer is ‘after what you did to Wally’s kid?’ and yadda yadda… It’s annoying!” Kahl tapped the area Mugman’s head hovered over, watching the mortal for any responses. Not seeing any, he grabbed Mugman’s head, and pulled it away, settling it on a nearby rolling cart. _That_ got a response. Mugman’s body jolted as he tried grabbing for his head, shuddering at the feeling of someone else handling his head. Even more so when the person was breaking his immediate connection to his body. Kahl hummed, light gleaming off his glasses, obscuring his gaze for a rather intimidating few seconds.

“And this! Did you know some believe the brain still functions even when separated from the body? After Werner helped the mortals perfect a few of their execution methods, they asked others to experiment, but of course I joined them, you don’t even have to ask!” Kahl motioned to something he couldn’t see in the dark of the lab he’d been dragged to. Though his immediate area was very well lit with numerous lights overhead, it only illuminated the space thirty feet around him. Everything else beyond the lights and beeps of countless machines left him unable to truly see his surroundings.

“Now I’ve had to rely on whatever critters I catch wandering about the isles or the water. Not exactly easy mind you, but I make do.” A robot wheeling a small cart with a humming machine on the lower level and a twitching mermaid looking creature above. The creature, half scales, half flesh, looked like the drawing of mermaids he’d seen in the books, but it was far less majestic than he thought it would be. The poor thing was laying in a shallow pool of water, likely remains of whatever tank Kahl kept it in. Its’ scales were dull, far from the described vibrance the books sang praises of. It looked at him under a mess of thick seaweed like hair, fear rolling off it in waves.

He waved to the poor thing, giving it a tiny comforting smile. It just shook its head sharply, greet tinged tears building in its eyes. Right about then was when he realized below the elbows, only stumps remained. He lost his color, taking in the clearly cauterized flesh and the now clear scars littering their body.

“Most recent addition this one! Sure, I had to sneak it by Cala but that’s what brothers are for!” Kahl pat the creature on their head, laughing cheerfully when it tried snapping his fingers off with an impressive set of shark teeth. It went back to looking at him shortly after, choosing to ignore the fact that its latest attack had failed. He tried returning the stare, but Kahl’s movements proved too distracting. He watched the god fiddle with the humming machine, turning various dials, watching various meters fill to different levels. Mugman, already guessing what the machine was, tried to figure out just what the god intended to do with it. He dearly hoped the god was simply going to show off a spark show.

Then Kahl held up two wires with thickly gloved hands. The mermaid thrashed, unable to go very far with a bar around its waist but trying anyway. It made distressed, high-pitched noises, trying to reach for Mugman with blackened stumps. His own hand yanked at the leather restraint. Kahl hummed.

“What’s most interesting is,” He paused, making sure he held the attention of both his ‘test subjects’. “Porcelain creatures don’t have a central nervous system which means…” The wires exposed ends were pressed up against Mugman’s arm and chest, and though electricity danced across his body, it remained motionless. The soul liquid below his porcelain skin took the lightning easily, it _did_ cause the liquid in his head to glow with transferred bolts of violet light. His irises took on the same glow, but that was the only visible change.

“It’s interesting! How the soul liquid in here,” Kahl nudged Mugman’s shoulder, “transfers effects over to the liquid in your head! Very interesting! Oh the methods it does so are such a mystery!” Both Mugman and the mermaid shuddered at the unhinged edge now creeping into Kahl’s… everything. Kahl removed the wires, but the electricity remained.

Then Kahl shifted so his hands hovered over the mermaid.

“Us fleshy creatures however, no…we don’t get such a luxury.” He pressed the wires into the creature. The mermaid thrashed, muscles visibly bulging under twitching flesh. It tried shrieking, instead it choked on bubbling saliva, eyes rolling to the back of its head. Kahl removed the wires after what felt like an hour, but was only a scant handful of seconds. The mermaid continued seizing on the table, the remains of its arms slamming onto the table, giving off a meaty thwack. Kahl ignored the building sobs it gave off, focusing on two neon violet eyes, observing how the violet was being overtaken by a golden hue. He kept that observation to himself.

The mermaid too, caught the glow, caught something else that Kahl couldn’t see, and went from sobbing, to _cackling_. Kahl shrugged it off, he’d figure it out later, chalking it down to some property of the boys’ soul. He let the machine stay powered up, putting the wires away to keep his work area nice and clear.

“You see, before we were all sent away, me being one of the first for some unfathomable reason. Werner and I were _far_ less abusive than Chalice I’ll have you know. We got to experimenting with that hypothesis!” The god of innovation produced a heavy blade, and with but a moment’s pause, he swung the tool into the throat of the mer. It lurched, shrieking through bubbling blood, he wasn’t strong enough nor was the weapon heavy enough to go through with just one swing. Realizing this, and giving a bashfully apologetic cough towards his audience—and he so loved having an audience once more, someone that wasn’t his brother, and someone who would give him fresh reactions.

He chose to saw at the neck instead, remarking about how he needed as many muscles and tendons in decent shape as possible for the experiment. It took a terrifying fifteen sawing motions just to reach the point where the mermaid no longer shrieked. The body continued to shudder, but the mouth just spilled blood rather than sound. The gold faded from the boys eyes, leaving the neon violet to dominate once again, as the electricity had yet to leave his system. Ten more sawing motions, and a few hacks here or there to get through the spine, and Kahl was finally able to present the head. It still held the warped, agonized, open mouthed shriek from when it still had life.

**_‘Heavy.’_ **

The unknown voice Mugman heard, the very one he’d heard outside, he simply chalked up to being the robot likely lurking in the darkness. He frankly didn’t have the thinking capacity to do much else, considering every single part of his soul was set on ‘screaming in abject terror internally but being too shocked to actually verbalize said terror’.

“Fish don’t do anything interesting of note, as I discovered over and over. Bugs, even less so. Those bees are boring if the buzz isn’t their own.” He paused, eager smile wide as he waited for the mortal to take in the joke and laugh. When no laugh came, he laughed cheerfully, well aware the boy would likely appreciate it later. “But people,” He continued after his hearty laugh. “Creatures with more defined features and the like, far more interesting results! For instance,” he reached for the wires once more, letting the head sit on the still body’s chest. He snagged the wires, ensured the charge was still sufficient, and after shoving one wire deep into the exposed spine, he let the other wire rest against a meatier portion.

Mugman clenched his eyes shut, entirely unwilling to watch. Even so, he wasn’t fast enough to keep the image of shuddering eye-lids and a twitchy jaw from being stored away in his mental ‘definitely having nightmares about this’ folder.

“I know it’s a bit of a shock… to see this when you yourself don’t have the structure to do much the same. But I’m sure its no different than seeing a fellow type such as yourself speak?” Kahl didn’t sound all that curious, but that was because he wasn’t. Those sorts of experiments and innovations had long since bored him. Science was far more interesting, especially the medical side.

“One day I’ll find a god to experiment on other than myself. Wouldn’t it be such a delight to see if we’re much the same? Course, I know I react to wires close to how this fellow does, but to see if Cagney responds the same would be such a delight!” Kahl let the head fall back to the table, ignoring the lightshow caused when the electricity found the rest of the body and set it alight with arcs of violet. He turned off the machine after adjusting his gloves and picking the blade back up.

“I know you aren’t too worried, after all, you are in the presence of genius here…Ah…” Mugman’s face remained firmly locked in disbelief even when Kahl shuffled over to his head, staring down at him with that bashful grin on full display. Mugman thought there were far too many teeth for it to be genuine. Then Kahl was picking him up, tapping his straw with a gloved finger. “It’s easier if I remove the electricity, but I have to admit I’m curious as to how it affects the soul you’ve got in here.” It was the only warning Mugman got before Kahl was taking a big gulp of his soul, tipping his head until some soul liquid poured down his chin and down the side of Mugman’s face.

Mugman’s body thrashed on the table as he tried some way to get the man to get away from him. Electricity danced across the both of them, and continued to do so until Kahl set his head back down. The electric glow was gone, and so was the violet in his eyes. Mugman felt dizzy, far too lightheaded for his comfort, and entirely violated. He dearly wished his brother was here. At the very least he’d have someone to share the violated horror eclipsing his mind with. All he had was Kahl, who simply smacked his lips with a bright hum. Kahl’s body indeed jolted a tad with the electricity, lasting a few short seconds before he was stable again, and eager as ever to continue with his little show.

“Interesting flavor! Blueberries perhaps? I detect a floral note somewhere in there, why you’re just _buzzing_ with taste!” Mugman glared at Kahl as best he could with how dizzy he felt. “Anyone lucky enough to be buddy-buddy with one of your kind, or even metal sorts know that the soul liquid is what keeps you kicking. I’ve got a couple empty ones lurking about around here… probably in storage, far too big to really fit on a table I’ll tell you.” Kahl pat Mugman’s arm, before dragging his finger across the elbow. “That is, when the body is nice and perfectly connected.” Kahl shifted, accidentally knocking over the boys’ bag, spilling his shirt on the floor as it had been dropped on top.

A lone pink die toppled out.

Kahl shifted his stance once more, focused on his task, mind even more focused on starting the experiment he’d always wanted to.

The die landed on a six, then broke off into faint dust, vanishing completely after that.

Mugman, trapped as he was, could only watch in wide-eyed shock as Kahl’s hard swing cracked his arm off entirely from the elbow down. It didn’t make him scream like the mermaid had, but his body tried to move as far from Kahl as possible, even as blue tinged soul liquid poured from the break down the table.

“I’ve always been curious to know about this stuff, I’m sure you know, just as I’m sure you’re curious about things I can do! I’ll gladly answer any questions you might have, fair is fair after all. Innovation is all about questioning things, seeing something, and wanting to make it _better, faster, more efficient._ ” Kahl watched the liquid stream down, glass covered gaze aglow with curious joy. Mugman’s dizziness only increased steadily.

Then there was a burst of light, a hole was torn into the distant wall, and in the light came a veritable army of bees. They swarmed the robot that started clanking, responding to the attack, dropping glowing torches. Bathed in the fog, casting an intimidating silhouette, stood Rumor Honeybottoms in full war regalia. Each of her six arms held a weapon but two. She stormed into the room, wrathful glare locked on the scene before her.

“Kahl!” Her voice filled the room, bouncing off the walls. A few bee’s broke from the main swarm currently playing pin the robot to the wall, heading for the table. Kahl’s heel kicked back, turning the machine back on full. The vast amount of electricity, far more than he’d had it set to before, blazed out of the head the wires lingered in. The hair caught fire, skin blackening around the neck, eyes bulging out of the sockets until the popped out. He went to yank the wires out, only to have to throw himself away from the area, Rumor’s swords cutting clean through the body, embedding into the table. She shuddered under the shock of the machine, but the sheer amount of her enraged determination made it all too easy for her to kick the machine into the far wall.

Kahl glared at her, beyond upset to be interrupted. Rumor returned the glare with a far more intense one. She let her bee’s brush past, let them smear honey across the break on the mortal’s arm, resetting it and allowing her powerful life magic refill his soul liquid. One of the bee’s put his head back on his shoulders while the rest cut away the restraints, handing him the bag. More robots came clanking out to meet the invading bugs. The two deities remained focused on one another.

“Rumor! You know damn well not to go interrupting me!” Kahl shouted over the sound, face flushed bright red in rage. Rumors painted lips dipped into a toothy snarl.

“And you know not to meddle with life. That’s _my_ Domain you dim-witted, pompous, fuel sniffing _peasant._ ” She hissed. Mugman, being pushed towards the new exit by a couple bee’s had to rely on them to keep him upright. Despite the honey jumpstarting his soul liquid’s replenishment, it wasn’t enough yet for him to be steady. Rumor grabbed the arm of a robot that had gone past her, aiming for the weakened mortal with one of her free hands. Then, keeping her eyes locked on Kahls, she used the robots limb to drag it towards her, the heavy machine weightless to her anger fueled strength. She ripped the head off the machine, clearly using it as a visual indicator as to what she had planned for the god across from her. Kahl, not a fighter, was stuck dodging the bits of robot she lobbed at him. She kept herself between him and the little mortal, Domain whispering to her how his life returned faster with an added dose of magic infused honey poured right into his head. It worriedly muttered about how something kept his life from fully returning, and in fact seemed to be eating away at it.

Rumor could only guess it was something Kahl had done, and her wings jittered with her unholy fury. The second the boy was fully out of range, she swung the rest of the robot into a few charging from the left, then threw herself at Kahl, swords catching the light. Kahl, though smart, and fully capable of outwitting her normally, didn’t have the added strength of Domain influenced power. She had a mortal life to protect, it was all her Domain needed to fully immerse her in every ounce of power it had.

Kahl wouldn’t die, that she knew, but she would make damn sure he wouldn’t be able to go near the mortal for a _long_ while.

====-====-====-====

Led by the bees as he was, Mugman weakly asked if Rumor would be okay. He had no idea what either was capable of, and wasn’t keen on being the reason she got shredded. One of the bees gave him his book back in response, gently patting him on the head. Another nodded, puffing her chest out with clear pride for the Goddess of Fertility and Life. They kept by him until he was back at Rumor’s building. Then, making gestures for him to follow the path, they were off, likely to go help their queen.

Surrounded by thick fog, barely recovered from losing half of his soul liquid, Mugman took a moment to sit down on his heels. He pressed his palms to his face and tried to purge the mermaid from his mind. Finally, regaining enough confidence in his stability—and giving up on any chance of not seeing the mermaid’s mauled neck, ghastly expression of death, and the odd laughter it had let off before being beheaded—he headed the direction they’d gestured. As he walked, the sounds of the water grew louder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cuphead's part alone kept tripping me up. So if it ain't as good as previous portions, that's why. Mugman's gave me trouble too, but at that point I was more determined to get done than anything. I've got a couple stories in the works I've got plans for, so you might see a new one shot collection start up. 
> 
> Though I couldn't find any actual deities of just innovation, there are indeed a few based on creativity, so Kahl's a bit of a patchwork of a few of those gods. Forkington is likely now on a new gods shit list. If y'all thought a god being fixed up is intense, wait til you see what happens to a mortal. Just because you got a jolt don't take away the fact you voluntarily handed over Mugman to a creepy robot. And just because his domain is strong, doesn't mean Cuphead is immune to getting his ass beat. It's damn near impossible to fight the literal wind. Ever try punching a tornado?
> 
> Water equals docks, which i'm sure we're all aware means an aquatic greeting for the poor baby in blue. He'll have a moments reprieve of course, intermissions are made for that after all!


	14. Intermission Inkwell Isle Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A breather, needed? Perhaps.

Beppi the god started off as Beppi the Jester. Jesters were wise, playfully making light of dangerous situations so the rulers could strategize more clearly. They gave tips and ideas to their rulers, were highly regarded in court; Beppi loved every second of it. He felt as if he was born to entertain, to joke his way around tense situations, and he _owned_ every minute he performed. The people and the courts loved him, called on him often, and he in turn gave them everything.

He wasn’t sure when he stopped enjoying talking strategies, choosing to just tell jokes instead. When elaborate acts and acrobatics took his attention from elaborate plans. Whatever the reason, he shed the Jester, and took up the Clown. A few months into his new act sets, he began to hear whispers, words eagerly telling him what to follow the cartwheel with. He chalked it up to spirits in his spirits, following the tips as he didn’t see any harm in it. Sure enough, he grew in popularity once more.

The growth turned out to be a bad thing.

Enemies who knew of his court successes found him.

He made sure his audience laughed even as he was torn apart by a rigged prop.

When he next came to, it was to the voice praising him for his wonderful dedication. It cheerfully turned his head so he could see the show _it_ put on. His murderers made wonderful actors, he thought, watching them get torn to pieces by his Domain. Props of every sort coming to life, burning some alive, shredding others, devouring the rest. It was marvelous, and he could only imagine what else he could do.

Then he wondered what he could help _others_ do, and his excitement sky-rocketed. His domain led him to thousands upon thousands of eager entertainers. Some preferred his sisters’ stage-help. He didn’t mind. She was a wonderful actress and he had no doubt she’d ensure people not wanting heart-pounding acrobatics could still find excitement from the operas and plays. The two would trade mortals, often exchanging tips on what mortals would excel with what. For the longest few centuries, they were cherished by the people seeking a break from the monotony of every day life.

With that adoration came high expectations, and though Sally was fine with knowing not everyone would love every single play she helped create, Beppi was not. He _loathed_ when a joke fell apart. It was his entire job to make people gasp, make them cheer, clap, but most importantly, _laugh._ She’d made fun of him for it, but he soaked in her teasing laughter, choosing to use it as a motivator to do even better than her. It was a playful rivalry they started up.

Perhaps that was where things went wrong.

He’d never know, not until he was shot in the stomach by a tiny little deity playing _him_ for a fool.

The first time he watched someone mess up his act he’d spent hours trying to teach them, he shredded one of the boards on the stage, causing them to plummet below. Their shrieks of agony would be thought as part of the show until the rest of the performers rushed on stage in horror to try and rescue their fallen actor. Beppi watched from the sidelines, promising his Domain that he knew what needed to be done to carry on the entertainment. He swore he’d only go to such extremes when he knew the show was a lost cause, it was better for the audience, he said.

His Domain, unsure but also well aware it wasn’t—nor had it ever been—mortal, went with it.

‘ _Laughter is important, I want more though. I want more.’_

Ever eager to please, he threw himself into doing as his dear Domain requested. He moved away from joke acts, into more acrobatics. Had he not been made of air, he was certain he’d have broken every bone in his body five times over. All the practice he threw into his acts, into the new stunts he came up with, he knew was worth it. The rips and tears he’d been forced to go to Sally to have fixed, worth it. Because when he added them into what he normally taught his dear performers the shows shot to the stars in popularity. People _adored_ the acts he carefully created.

More importantly, he realized as he watched an actor receive angry shouts for a shoddy performance, they loved _him._ _His_ acts got the most positive reception. _His_ acts boosted unknown acrobats into the eyes of the world.

  _It was all him._

His Domain helped as well, he’d never deny that. But it could only throw in suggestions. Beppi was the one that turned potentially bad suggestions into glorious heart-stopping acts. His Domain had gone notably quieter as more time carried on, but Beppi didn’t see a problem with it. Sally too found nothing truly wrong with it. She’d told him the other deities hardly spoke to their Domain’s at all, so of course it was bound to happen. He still took what it said into account as he continued teaching the mortals hoping to do as he had done.

Though, and he could _hardly_ be blamed, it grew frustrating when his students didn’t _listen._ He had no idea what to do with an actress who simply _couldn’t remember_ _to land on the balls of her feet, not the heels._

That is, until he remembered that day two centuries ago where he’d broken the performer for breaking his act. The idea grew with each fumble, each misstep, until finally…

He twisted her laces before she made the final leap into the air.

As she laid there, screaming in agony, fellow students desperately trying to ease her cries, he examined the broken ankles, the sprained wrist, the budding bruises… and smiled.

They’d all taken it to mean he was certain she’d recover nicely, and would be able to try again.

His Domain went entirely silent after that.

He continued _nudging_ things when his students simply refused to get it right. He took in how long it took him to get the stunt right, gave a few extra tries just in case, and when the mortals didn’t perform perfectly by then, he crushed their bodies.

Someone chose to _adjust_ _his performances_ during a certain act. He’d seen it, and weakened the supports on the ceiling.

Big Tops were heavy. The beams holding them up? Even more so.

It took a good thirty instances of circuses collapsing despite reinforced safety features. A good thirty-five ice skating acts leaving blood splattered and limbs slashed. A solid fifty water acts leaving entire teams drowned. More acts here and there to clue in the mortals that he wasn’t happy with them.

_He_ figured the people would _finally_ put in the effort needed, the effort he _demanded_ into learning his acts.

They’d locked him away on Inkwell instead.

His sister too, fell to the betrayal of the mortals they’d worked _tirelessly_ to entertain.

Beppi, not much of a fighter in the first place—his Domain wasn’t like Rumor’s or Bon Bon’s—had simply vowed to wait. The **_second_ ** he was free; he was going to give the world _the biggest performance **ever.**_

His Domain remained silent.

====-====-====-====

Djimmi had come into the world bearing hearty magic and quick wit. His first true memory was of tearing a foolish, greedy mortal to pieces, desperate for some way of staying _out of the damn lamp._ Magic wasn’t exactly picky, so, when he’d inhaled the mortal, it had been accepted that he wasn’t Djinn enough to have to return to the prison bathed in the blood of the unlucky cheetah. His lamp, the thing he remained bound to, stayed under his hat. He didn’t want to risk being trapped back in the hunk of gold tucked carefully away.

The human within him kept him free, but it was the voice he began to hear a few hundred years into wandering about the sands of his home that gave him the confidence that he’d never be locked away again.

His Domain made it perfectly clear that it was the mortal within him that made it choose him above anyone else it could have. He didn’t mind, he’d take anything to finally put the fear of entrapment out of his mind. Boldened once more by the cooed promise of freedom, he returned to granting wishes. He’d even tossed aside his old habit of warping meanings.

He found it…nice, to watch someone receive just the thing they’d been hoping for. Be it a simple set of dinnerware or everlasting polish, to impressive underground palaces. Whatever the wish, if it caught his fancy, or if his sister asked him, he granted it. It was nothing with his Domain lending his decent strength an astronomical boost. He loved every second of it, loved how he and Hilda spread joy in ways none of the other deities could manage. Cagney could grow a tree bearing the most flavorful fruit, but only Djimmi could make that tree bear fruit even in the harshest winter.

He’d been riding on a high, and the first offering a mortal gave him in return for granting their wish had him in tears. Mouth sealed shut with pure awe, he’d accepted gift after gift, finally finding a use for his lamp. He’d put every single gift safely into its hold. His Domain had simply snorted, finding his almost childish glee silly.

Then Hilda came to him, telling him she’d been the source of fear to a mortal’s dream, rather than a source of joy. She told him how the mortals had taken to trying to reach the skies where she stayed. She had been so angry she’d sobbed, having to repeat herself numerous times just for him to get the gist of it. Needless to say he’d brushed the old Djinn traits off, cracked his knuckles, and doubled down on returning the favor to the rude mortals.

While he wasn’t sure what would cause the mortals to suddenly fear his sister, he didn’t know her for a liar. Sure, he didn’t visit her very often, so if he was honest, he didn’t even know her favorite kind of music, much less her day to day habits. But she was his sister, and he didn’t take kindly to her being threatened. He _knew_ some mortals could easily be the sort to attack gods, Cagney had been having issues, Werner was on the run, Chalice was so off-kilter even Djimmi refused to go near her. He didn’t see a reason to question Hilda’s frantic accusations.

Later, much later, standing over her crumpled form as golden Judgement devoured her arrogance, forced her into a deep, nightmare drenched sleep, he would wish he had.

But Djinn couldn’t grant their own wishes, and his Domain hissed…

‘ _You and her deserve **every last bit of this.**_ ’

He remembered the countless wishes turned against the ones who hadn’t meant any harm—had done nothing to him or Hilda—and would bitterly wait for his sister to wake up. He wasn’t in the business of making mistakes twice.

Not when a child could so accurately point out how pathetic he was.

====-====-====-====

Bon Bon had always been a fierce woman. Her home in the far north would have killed her had she been the meek sort she’d heard described by the men who returned from their travels. She didn’t mind how her husband falling to an enemies spear left her to continue his trade. Instead she used it to spread good spirits. She adored knowing the meals she and a few of the other women helping her brightened the faces of the warriors who _did_ return. She equally enjoyed the relief when their townsfolk returned to discover a massacre not of their town, but of the foes who’d made the mistake of attacking them.

It wasn’t uncommon for stray parties to descend on their town, they did much the same as a side effect of expanding trade routes and the like. Battles were easy for her, only grew easier when some voice, thirsty for the blood of their attackers gave her tips, hints. She’d be cutting into bread one day, cutting through the throat of an invader the next, both with equal ease. She’d even begun contemplating aiming to find another husband. Settled and content as she was, she found the idea pleasant.

But just because she was strong, didn’t mean she was immune to death. She’d forever proudly state how she died in her own home, but not before crushing the skull of her murderer with her cauldron.

When she woke back up, the voice was far louder, and she was ripping the beak off of a raven who she didn’t recognize. It was calling for her to _show_ the invading party just _who they’d picked a fight with._

She obliged.

She didn’t stay to greet the returning warriors, but she left her townspeople ready for funerals in their homes, and the bodies of their attackers strung up. The surviving townsfolk spread the word of a warrior goddess who only grew more powerful when those under her protection were threatened. Her Domain called them correct.

She began by offering to keep homes safe if they let her use their fire places to warm herself back up. Being a god didn’t mean she didn’t feel cold, and with time, her furs grew tattered. So a warm fire was always welcome. She didn’t fancy looking for her brother either, despite knowing he wouldn’t mind giving her flame coated cloaks and gloves if she asked. She knew he was sweet, based on the words of travelers, but she found it far more fun to find the kindness in mortals.

As thanks, she’d often leave the kind hosts with warm meals that never spoiled, and tasted more divine than anything they’d tasted. Soon people began to offer their homes to her, as well as their recipes, wanting to impress her, at least she guessed that was their reasoning. The first true gift she received was from that woman who’d wanted her small hut guarded from a nearby pack of ill-intentioned hounds. It was the same gift she’d tucked away after the more luxurious gifts began to pour in. She’d defended that house so fiercely, she wouldn’t be surprised to know hounds of any sort _still_ avoided that area.

She’d even called for her brother for the first time for that woman, wanting to thank her but having no idea just how to beyond fulfilling her side of the bargain. Grim’s fire had ensured her home would never grow cold even in the fiercest storms. Bon Bon wondered if Grim remembered that woman the way she did.

She didn’t think she’d want to know the answer, not until Grim was better.

The more elaborate gifts spoiled her. Fine silks made her find furs dirty and scratchy. Glittering gold made dear heirlooms centuries old look pathetic. She wasn’t sure exactly when she stopped giving people the time of day simply because they didn’t offer her things only the rich could. But she’d want nothing more than to be able to strangle her past self. Maybe even blow her past self’s knee-caps off for the sheer absurdity of tossing the body of a man only hoping to protect his newborn child with an offering of a necklace his ancestors had carefully crafted onto the steps of his home. She _still_ remembered how the man’s wife had wailed in crushing despair.

It wasn’t the last time she’d decided a harsh message was needed to ensure her time wasn’t _wasted._ She even took the time to craft a massive castle she modeled after some of the new lands she got to explore upon losing her mortality. She named it Creampuff, and it acted as the keeper of her spoils when Inkwell wasn’t close enough. Now, it sat, groaning as Beppi shrieked inside. She only grew more ashamed as her Domain merrily tore her pride to pieces after Cuphead had long left.

She once pictured hunting down every single family she’d protected and destroying the bloodlines entirely. She thought the moment she was free from the Isles, she’d give the people a reason to look at her presence with terror. Now though, now she thought of how much she’d have to grovel. She wondered how long it would take for people to accept her help, share recipes with her once more. She was even more ashamed to admit that when the sweet little mortal returned, she wouldn’t be leaving his side. Not until her confidence was back. Not until she was _sure_ she wasn’t slipping back to old, disgraceful habits. 

Her Domain idly wondered what he’d like to eat when he got back. Then it wondered how to go about rending the deities who did the most damage to his frail little mortal body from this plane of existence.

She polished her knives alongside her gun.

====-=====-====-=====

Grim was born alongside countless other dragons. From the very beginning he found he hated the sound of silence. He hated when the others chose sleep over exciting adventures guaranteed to make conversations easy. Hated when they chose to focus entirely on flying when Grim knew it was easy to chat while flapping his wings. Though there were hundreds in the caves he’d come into the world in, hunting, flying, and all other manner of things ensured it to be near impossible for him to find any company for long. None were surprised when the second he gained enough strength to leave the nest, he did.

Grim only wanted to find where those willing to chat hid.  Instead he gained a new fear, one of isolation. Dragons weren’t like the other reptilian folks, they didn’t fear the cold. Dragons were also notorious in their hoarding habits. So, for a long while, he was avoided. Once he became known to others for being one to collect voices, collect conversations and friendly chats, those that traveled in his little territory stopped hiding from him.  He was happy, his joy only grew when a new voice that always seemed willing to answer appeared four centuries into his existence.

With a voice that never left, he had no need to fear silence.

Even when his heart was being crushed by some unseen force, he felt no fear, the silence, the absence of blood rushing through his body, all kept a side note by the merry humming.

His Domain was quite the chipper one, he heard rumors that the other gods had less chatty ones, and pitied the likes of the Root pack. He _loved_ the things he was able to talk about with his Domain. He grew even more excited when he learned that he had a sister of his very own. He was ecstatic to know she was nice.

His Domain asked him to trot alongside travelers, illuminating dark paths in deep woods with fire that wouldn’t burn anything but itself. He did. It vowed it would always talk to him as long as he continued doing as it asked. He agreed.

The joy he felt from the mysterious thing perched in the depths of his soul when he bit the bear attacking the little mortal traveler he’d been speaking to in half clued him in to a new thing his Domain wanted. He began watching the various routes mortals took to get from one place to the other, offering company. He knew how scary silence could be after all. He had a nice voice to keep the silence at bay and the knowledge that if he ever visited his sister, she’d gladly listen to his tales, sharing ones of her own at his request.

Being as big as he was, he’d learned to be careful with his movements. It had only taken one accidental cart crushing for him to understand that he had no other choice. But doing something so often, so long, makes one slack off.

He hadn’t meant to step on the rabbit he’d been guarding from her fear of the dark. He’d heard a sound, feared it was a threat to the mortal, and had turned. Really, he doubted she’d even felt it. Just a tiny crunch and that was that.

As he stood over her corpse, he heard vague echoes of Bon Bon. He remembered her carving the skin from an animal whose meat was boiling away in a stew. Heard her say something about never letting any part of an animal go to waste. She’d told him it was the utmost insult to do so. He hoped the rabbit would be less angry with him if he devoured her.

So, he did.

His Domain grew nervous.

He decided it was best to not tell his sister, or any of the others. But then he toppled a tree over onto a wolf who’d simply had the _most wonderful_ _stories_. The wolf was devoured far more quickly and with less hesitation.

His stomach rumbled.

He asked Bon Bon to share meals with him, and his dear sister agreed. She’d even taken to making meals for the other gods, remarking about how wonderful it would be if they weren’t such strangers despite being the very deities of the world. He’d nodded his head, absentmindedly, too focused on watching her pluck berries. He wondered if the wolf would have tasted better if he’d eaten more with it.

It grew from there. He would beg his sister for food, and when he’d eaten her delicious cooking, often being the taste tester for the stranger recipes, he’d return to his job. He began getting more careless with his steps. His wings sent a seal off a cliff, he ate what little he could scrape from the rocks. His tail squashed a centipede against a tree, he pushed their cart into the depths of the woods while picking the hard bits of their body from his teeth.

His stomach rumbled.

When less people began showing up after being seen leaving with Grim, people got curious. When Grim’s belly grew at a terrifying rate, they grew _scared._ He found it silly considering he was certainly still doing his job. He’d even cooked the last boar he’d been strolling through a mountain pass with. His fire added an extra bit of kick he thought.

People started to avoid him, even risking traveling at night, hoping they’d be harder to spot. He thought that silly, considering his fire cast away all shadows. He grew affronted when a mouse told him she felt safer with the wolves than him, claimed he was more a danger than the darkest night near a cliffside.

His Domain agreed with her, and went quiet.

_Grim feared the silence._

His stomach rumbled, the silence grew.

He began to grow desperate for anyone to talk to, afraid he’d go back to the past. His Domain remained quiet. He ate more, the crunching bones a welcome relief from the lack of any noise. At one point he even tried to eat Wally, one of his more embarrassing moments if he was being honest. He’d made sure to apologize. Later on, he’d remember how terrible Wally tasted when he was licking swan from his chops.

Then, one day, when he’d been about to wish a squid safe travels, he was called forcefully back to Inkwell. It was nice for a while, the rage filled screams from the gods, the terrified wails from the mortals who’d been most favored by the deities, all chased the silence away. He’d even refrained from eating the ones in his tower, keeping them as emergency conversations.

His stomach rumbled. Bon Bon, too furious by her imprisonment, refused to make anything at all.

The emergency conversations dwindled quickly. Chalice tore him apart so badly Bon Bon had taken her on when he tried eating the bodies piled in her tombs.

His stomach rumbled, and the silence grew and he needed to eat.

He needed to eat, he needed to shoo the silence away.

He regret trying to eat Chalice, she’d torn apart his mouth. Not with her spear, but with her body. She’d simply mocked him upon repairing herself.

His stomach rumbled, _and the silence grew and he needed to eat._

He was grateful Cala didn’t hold grudges, but she’d tasted _awful._ He’d only managed a nibble on her arm before he’d gagged.

_His stomach rumbled._

====-====-====-====

The well had been a favored spot for two brand new gods. It was the first place they found one another when their Domains had told them they had one another. It was where they were assured that they weren’t alone. That they weren’t the only gods in the world. Both, thirsty for knowledge, vowed to share the results of their quests for answers with one another. And so the well became their meeting place. The two gods would wonder if it was them that caused Inkwell to gain the personality it had, but would be unable to test that theory, as other things distracted them. Devil, the only other one they recalled being there before them, hadn’t been willing to share anything with them.

One, who bowed to the Domain of Wisdom and Magic, started experimenting with alchemy, with potions. The other, who bowed to Knowledge and Sight, experimented with the effects of scrying water still drenched in magic.

The brothers took joy in learning, in sharing their knowledge. But there was only so much information one could share before they ran out. The brothers, unwilling to ever let that occur, started to take advantage of their immortality.

They experimented on themselves for the sake of more information.

Their Domains had found it cute, or, the Wise one’s had. The Knowledgeable one was less certain. Still, they continued, since there was no reason not to. They were the first gods besides the thing that called himself Devil, let the mortals call him all other manner of names, there was plenty to research.

It was thanks to the brothers that the mortal world was introduced to immortals unlike the porcelain types or metal types who would eventually rust away or crumble given enough time. The brothers were also the ones to get the ball rolling for mortals understanding just how strong the gods were. The metal one taught easily, readily, traded information for potion ingredients. His brother, far fleshier, took books for shared knowledge.

Then the flesh one got the idea to see how far his immortality went. He began throwing himself into lethal situations.

They learned just how fierce and protective deities were of their siblings when the flesh one teased mortals into beating him to near “death”. That was simply another thing they chalked down, then they’d scoured the bodies for anatomical information, scavenged parts needed for potions and scrying, and cleaned their hands of that matter.

Neither brother could say who got it in their heads to see how far into a Domain they could go. The Domains _both_ took issue with that, but only until the brothers promised to be careful. The potion master took the wisdom he had stored, of what mixes of plants and animal parts did what, to brew up a new series of potions. Fearing his flesh brother would be far more prone to injury, he himself tested the potions. He found how potent they made his magic, how powerful they made his mind. That one he willingly shared with his brother after being certain he’d had no ill effects from it. With it, they brainstormed the perfect set-up of ingredients.

They crafted a potion that went beyond simply boosting.

It was by the well that they tested the final result, the last of a series of failures.

It was the well that the flesh brother’s body fell into, immortal blood staining the water.

He didn’t die in that well, not fully. But his body had been beyond shattered and his Domain wasn’t knowledgeable in how to heal so much damage. So there his body rested at the bottom of the well. His brother was distressed, and worked tirelessly to give his sibling back a voice. That was when the Domains stepped in once more. The flesh brother’s Domain used the body’s blood as a connection to the pool, allowing him to project his image on the water.

He teased his sibling about being a murderer.

His brother had laughed heartily, even as he wept.

They decided it was better they not say what had happened, fearing any new gods would use that potion improperly. So Elder Kettle began to claim his brother was in a place no one would find. His brother spat out odd information when wandering mortals or gods caught his interest, projecting his image to frighten them. It was decided that he was just a spirit, and though Chalice and Phantom Express both tried to purge him from the pool, it had only resulted in them getting wet.

The brothers thought it was hilarious.

The one in the water found it less so when he learned of how far his brother had fallen to the thing he should have been wise enough to avoid. He’d be even less amused when he’d learned his brother was the one to trap the other gods on the Isles instead of experimenting like they had so long ago to find a better way. He couldn’t be blamed when the new gods his brother had been raising turned up on the Isle, one alive, but dying at an astounding rate, the other newly immortal, but desperate for his own brother, it didn’t cross his mind that his corrupted brother _wouldn’t have shared stories of him to them._ The issue with inside jokes was that they weren’t understood by anyone outside of the know.

His Domain would _helpfully_ remind him of that long after the boy had gone to find the other.

The brother in the well couldn’t find it in himself to feel guilty.

====-====-====-====

Wally Warbles was a simple bird. He’d grown up, found a darling wife, had a son, and he’d been content. He and his wife went above and beyond to teach their son as much as they could, but to Wally’s joy and empty pockets, the boy learned far faster than they could get their hands on books. So Wally took up helping at docks, the place closest to his seaside nest. He began by giving tips to the sailors, showing them the best places to sail on their maps, taking knowledge from his countless flights into account.

It got him a little more than the previous attempts he and his wife attempted, and he was able to buy books quickly enough while his wife took up fishing. He knew she was good at it, so it didn’t even cross his mind to be afraid for her.

When he saw the storm clouds brewing, he was confident she’d be in their home, likely trying to figure out what their son rewired _this time._

He loved his boy, he really did.

Then, after the storm, her body was found pinned to the rocks below their home. She’d been tangled up so badly within her net she’d been unable to get free. The heavy catch kept her from flying to higher ground to escape the rogue waves.

He wasn’t content anymore. But he couldn’t mourn for long, not when his son needed him. He didn’t even have time to question the voice that now sporadically urged him to lead sailors towards other parts of the ocean. He just kept powering on, he refused to do any less. That lasted for all of fifteen days before he flew into a storm. His son had cried about a lost kite, and Wally, not wanting his son’s hard work to disappear into the waters below, had gone out despite his better judgement.

He returned immortal.

He wasn’t the first god, nor was he the second or third, he was one of the younger gods actually, so as he stared at his son, two years into being immortal, he thought about that word.

Immortal.

He knew his kind had decent lifespans, but his son, already six years old, was sixty some-odd years off from his grave. Wally had lost his wife, but now that he was a god, he had _options._ He was well aware there was a wish god lurking about the world. He used his travels, bringing fair winds to sailors whose ships needed it, to search for that god. It took him four years to find Djimmi.

Four years to find the deity.

Four minutes to explain himself.

Four seconds to see the malicious twist.

There was no amount of time given to how much he regret ever approaching that god. He sometimes wondered how things would have happened had he gone to the Devil instead. Surely, he thought, though the rumors painted him as a brutal beast, unfriendly to any and all. He was also fairly certain he’d heard something about the god of fortune being bewitched by the beast but, as the years passed, and as his sons skin rot at a rate it shouldn’t on a body unable to grow, he would take _anything_ other than what Djimmi had given him.

He grew bitter.

On occasion, when he saw Cala lurking below the waves, he’d use his Domain to guide ships into her, just for kicks. She took to throwing whales at him. He messed with the river barges, and forgot that his brother needed him. Not that he was all that close with his deity brother in the first place. The pirate was kind enough, often finding grand things to gift to Wally Jr. but it wasn’t enough to make Wally dislike his fellow gods any less. He knew that if one god had the astounding cruelty to maim a ten year old child, there was no end to what the others could do.

His bitterness carried on through to his work. Especially when the mortals began to proudly show him their new navigation tools. Brineybeard loved the innovation, Wally only saw it as the mortals trying to replace him. Angry, remembering all the times ships would have fallen to the waves had he not chased storms away, returned fire. His brother was the one who guided ships with his own, but even Brineybeard couldn’t see through fog. Brineybeards ship was immune to waves that would tear other ships asunder. Wally, therefore, saw no problem guiding his brother into fog, then into reefs. He made sure to only do it to ships that refused to listen to his directions, choosing their instruments over him.

Cala Maria began attacking ships, and Wally gladly lured them into her reach. He stirred up hurricanes, coaxed water spouts to form over ships, all while his son rot more and more. He wasn’t sure how many ships fell to his antics, but he didn’t care. He figured it was their fault for choosing to listen to their navigation rather than his own. He wished he could be surprised that the mortals betrayed him further by locking him and his son on Inkwell, but he wasn’t. He’d seen it coming as easily as he’d seen storms. If he could be betrayed by his fellow gods, he wouldn’t doubt they did the same to the mortals, and were the reason for them being trapped. He’d bet his left wing it was Djimmi who ultimately caused the mortals to lock them away.

He was the one to cover the Isles in fog, but he wasn’t the one making it stay. He was only mildly comforted that it too was trapped like he was by gods who had magic not bound to a select thing. His Domain hissed at him, and ignored the bitter bird. His brother too ignored him, and Wally was proud to have proof that even those like Brineybeard could betray him. He kept to his home, to his son.

Though he’d still make mistakes, such as letting Kahl try experiments on his boy, at his boys request. He simply added that to the pile of things to not be surprised by. He chose instead to make a solemn vow, on his very Domain, that he’d never let another hurt his son again. So when a little mortal, fresh on the Isles, fresh for his son to play with, left his son without so much as a good-bye… he took his anger out on the brother of the mortal.

It was all too easy, what did he have to fear after all?

He was immortal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mistakes were made. Is there a winner as to the saltiest god on the Isles? No, but Wally sure is a contender. I really hope these help paint a better picture of the gods. Even if it's the condensed version. Does anyone have a favorite deity yet?


	15. All Abuzz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isle Three, the goal of both siblings. It begins just as much as it starts to crescendo to the end for the two.

Cuphead let himself fully recover in the die house. Well, it was more like his Domain refused to let him leave until he wasn’t trying to think of names for it.

“Eddie.”

‘ _No.’_

“Monty.”

_‘Just focus on getting better.’_

“Steve.”

‘ _Oh **no.**_ ’

“Mertyl.”

‘ _I feel even more ancient just hearing that.’_

“Ammit. Ha… that’s… that’sssss… a pun. Who’s the fella whose gonna clean up Inkwell? Ammit.” Cuphead spent what many would consider a pathetic amount of time laughing at his own joke. His Domain stared off into its own void.

It would be an hour of this before the soul liquid was properly replenished, it would also be that moment he’d realize he wasn’t alone in the die house. Mostly because he’d remarked about being lucky enough that no one else heard him act like a loon.

“Oh if only.” A smooth alto voice that sounded like the owner was desperately trying to curb her laughter spoke up as he resettled his straw. He’d shrieked, leapt a good two feet into the air, and threw his straw at a wall when his arms swung out in panic. The mysterious woman standing near the gramophone, the opposite wall of the one he’d swung the straw at, cackled. He glared at her, unamused and embarrassed, red staining his cheeks all the way down to his shoulders. His Domain huffed.

Cuphead sputtered, unable to defend himself in any way. Face redder than his straw, he picked up the poor thing, coughed into his hand, and bailed for the door.

“Oh don’t be so quick to leave! There are so many other options for names!” She called out, the door vanished. He stared blankly at the spot it had been. His mind went on auto, he spun on his heel, and dramatically pointed at her.

“Goddess of doors!” He declared. It must have been how proud he looked as he said it, one hand on his hip, head held high. Whatever it was, she wound up bent over laughing, clutching her stomach. Sucking in air to settle her giggles, she brushed a tear from the corner of her green eyes.

“I’ll be honest, that would be an interesting thing to be, but no. And before you ask, no, I’m not interested in a fight.” She brushed pure white hair back to its proper place. Focused—and less embarrassed—Cuphead realized her figure was fuzzy. As if she wasn’t truly there, or not supposed to look like that, and her true form was trying to show itself. He wasn’t sure, and his Domain didn’t help him.

“Don’t look too deep boy, you won’t like what you find. Or would you rather I _not_ tell you a little something about that brother of yours?” He snapped to full attention, smile wiped from his face. On the very edge of his hearing, he heard something, voice whispering maddening numbers, endless possibilities, cooing at his Domain, as if greeting an old friend. Suddenly inches from him, deep violet painted lips a mere breath from his forehead, she caught his gaze and _held it._

“Deep in the gilded lights of an ever-changing gilded cage, he’s there. Slowed by the train, wounded by the doctor and more, he survived. But if you don’t hurry, he’ll spend his last day as a mortal, in utter agony, surrounded by strangers with no family to comfort him. Now tell me,” For a moment, her hair turned black, then returned to white, then she was a man in a violet suit, then she was herself again. “Would you have been content dying like that when you became what you are now?” He shook his head, desperately trying to stomp whatever was making him see the goddess in such a way. He was getting a headache, and he wasn’t in the mood to deal with that now.

“Would I have time to deal with the gods?” He asked, hands clenching and unclenching fistfuls of his pants. She hummed, tapping a perfectly manicured nail on his cheek. An earring in the shape of a playing card jingled when she tilted her head in thought.

“There’s a chance you will, but it depends on how long you dally at each one. I’d love to rig the game in your favor, but dear ol’ Devil is already huffy I messed with our previous game. You’ll have to settle with less than what your brother got.” She turned him around, letting him face the door that had reappeared.

“He said I couldn’t help you but…” Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a wide, vicious grin, “He never said _others_ _couldn’t._ Though I suppose it’s up to them if they do. Good Luck little Judge!” She pushed him, and though the shove was weak, his shadow dragged him eagerly out the door. She blew him a kiss, the door slammed shut, and the die house crumbled away into nothingness. His jaw relocated itself somewhere in the vicinity of his knees.

His Domain helpfully reminded him that he’d just been told Mugman was in agony, was caged by the Devil, and was soon to die. It didn’t take even half a second more for him to spin sharply on his heel and bolt into the Isle.

====-====-====-====

It was the weeping that caught his attention and had him slowing down as he ran past a luxurious high rise. Curious to see who’d be crying so loudly, he headed in, taking note of the shredded door frame and trashed lobby. Towards one of the elevators, he spotted a trail of golden blood. Had he been reading a character in a book spot the blood trail, he’d tell that character to walk the other way. His brother would probably tell the character to follow the trail, just to see what would happen. He chose the follow option, not hard when he considered just how few options he had in the first place.

The elevator was _drenched_ in the smell of iron and honey. He thought the fog of Isle Three smelled awful, but in that span of time, as he rode the elevator up to the top, the only button coated in blood, he would gladly huff Isle Three fog for the rest of his life if it meant never smelling what he did in the elevator ever again.

The door let off a cheery ding, the door opened, and there was the source of the sobbing. It was a bee Queen, one wing torn clear off her body, two arms clearly broken, another joining her wing in being violently relocated. She was scratched, burned, shredded, her makeup ran heavily down her cheeks, and yet she still held herself high. At the sound of the door opening, she’d sucked in a sharp breath and glared at him under her clumped lashes. All around her laid the bodies of countless mice mixed with bits of machinery. He would bet money that the reason she sobbed had more to do with the numerous bug corpses scattered about what had to be her throne.

The two took one another in, Cuphead, reading her sins, her faults, her actions. The Goddess taking in his posture, his potential to be a threat, the probability of him being part of the reason she sat in a pale imitation of herself.

“You… You helped my brother?” He finally spoke up, non-existent throat tight with the vision of his twin in Kahl’s grip. She sniffled, her shoulders relaxed.

“He was under my protection, under my Domain. Of course I did. I fear it was all in vain though.” Her voice cracked under her grief a couple times, and Cuphead fully relaxed his stance, unsure of how to ease her sorrow. Or how to take that last statement.

“Well hey…”

“And what’s worse? Here stands his brother! Such family love! Such dedication, but where is my own sibling? Where is _my brother?”_ Her lips shook as more tears rolled down her cheeks. “Look at me! A warrior of Life! Left in this _pathetic_ state! Cagney used to always come for me when I needed him, but not this time!” She wailed loudly. Her chest heaved as she gulped in air through her sobs. He winced.

“Say, when did this happen?” He swore if Cagney had mooched off him for so long while his sister was beat down so badly, he was going back for round two against the god. She curled in on herself.

“A day ago? But that’s not the point! Surely I would have heard him getting revenge for me by now had he been previously indisposed but I don’t! Just listen to Inkwell, she’s silent!” Rumor, he finally remembered her name, though it helped that Kahl had hissed it so malevolently.

“Miss, he was being uh… fixed? By me earlier, and last I saw him he was breaking Wally’s beak off and picking fights with Djimmi I think.” He winced, ducking his head down. Round two was going to be _sweet._ She sniffled, taking the information he gave her and mulling it over. Finally, she blew her nose into a satin handkerchief, then peeked at him from behind her hands.

“Do you think…he’ll come around soon?”

“Were those die house things stopping him earlier?”

“Oh, those do make travel harder for us, especially when touching the rivers means picking a fight with Goopy.”

“Well, that lady, goddess of fortune did something to make the one between this isle and Isle Two vanish. So I’m sure he’ll come running the second he’s done with those others!” He sounded confident, but he didn’t feel the same. Before these Isles, he’d firmly believe any sibling would come running hell or high water to help their family. Then he saw Bon Bon blow Grim’s head off, had to scold Djimmi to remind the guy that visiting family was a thing, and those were only the most memorable to him. She rewarded him with a weak smile.

“You know… before all of this, he was such a sweet pea. Why, he was so happy when he’d found a new flower or a new means of making everything bloom brighter. You didn’t see him as I did, but you’re right none the less. It’s certainly good to hear he’s well enough in his own head to take on Wally! Why, and if I’m not wrong, Wally did ruin my wings a few years ago! Thank you, little cup!” She stood, brushing herself clean of numerous handkerchiefs. Cuphead craned his head back to keep looking at her face, a bit annoyed she’d decided standing up was better than sitting.

Then she was glowing a bright neon, and her arms were re-growing right before his eyes. Her entire body was healing far faster than he thought even a potion could manage. What took his Domain an hour, took her a minute. Her clothing too, patched itself back up, and now that he thought about it, his too was fixed.

====-====-====-====

Later, when he wasn’t in the presence of a goddess who had saved his brother, Cuphead’d laugh so hard his chest would crack as he imagined his massive Domain trying to patch his outfit back up. The very idea of scaled claws holding a tiny sewing needle alone would be enough to have tears pouring down his face.

====-=====-====-====

In the present as he was, instead he focused on how she continued pouring out a healing light, ripples of magic reviving the bodies of her subjects. Though her makeup was ruined, dirt, oil, and all other manner of oddly colored stains lingered, she looked _noble._

“I’m sure you’re curious as to what’s occurred here. But I’d rather send you on your way. I’m certain you want revenge for your sibling. But I too would like to make amends of my own. I sent your brother off blind, I was far too focused on other things I found far more important. Of course, they were to me, but to him, not so much! I won’t allow myself to make a mistake twice if I can help it. Kahl has no robots left,”

 Here, Cuphead arched a single eyebrow, in return, she grinned, baring far too many teeth in vindictive glee. “ _I crushed them all._ So! All you have to worry about is the rats, and the other lackeys he’s got running about. I was informed that your brother had been captured thanks, in part, to one of Kahl’s minions. I didn’t bother to go after that one, but Kahl, I left him broken. Werner too should be licking his wounds. This wonderful queen still has it, even after all these years!” The blank stare she got from Cuphead made her cheeks flush. She coughed into her hands, ignoring the sounds of her people slowly returning to life.

“Ah… I don’t know what you do, but…if you’re the one that fixed my brother, perhaps you can fix the rest of us? We, and rightfully so, are arrogant, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you about how Hilda once… oh but that would make little sense if you didn’t know about the time Phantom Express used his fire box…but then I think _that_ story requires… where did he go?”

Rumor blinked, her people shrugged. Then one of them mentioned hearing the elevator’s gears running, and she settled down.

“Such a go-getter that one! I’ll be sure to tell him about the time Bon Bon’s shot gun went missing!”

====-====-====-====

“Why, King, I don’t recall you interfering so much in our previous games!” The God of Fortune hummed in response, adjusting his ruby cuff-links.

“Are you going to pretend you didn’t do the same, no, _more_ , for that one?” He flicked his gloved hand towards the little mortal listening to Wheezy and Mangosteen share stories of their adventures in the underworld. He received a laugh in response, a tail went to curl around his thigh, only to be rebuffed by a dress cutting him off from her leg. The deity sauntered away, movements as smooth as her voice.

“Besides, you _know_ I can’t help but add excitement in games like these. It’s fine isn’t it, _darling devil mine?”_ Green met pitch black. One moved so fast the other didn’t have time to so much as blink. The god of Fortune remained silent as she was dragged forcefully back by a heavy hand. The tail, once playfully swaying in the air, now crawled under the dresses slit, reaching for something hidden away.

“It is, **_as long as you remember where you are_**.” The green turned acidic, the tail brushed against a slip of a card, and a pillar was crashing down on the taller figure in the next second.

“Of course, but it’d be equally wise for you to remember _who I am._ ” The suit clad man didn’t bother with giving the snickering being under the stone a second glance as he made his way to the trio. He simply readjusted his gold jacket, and motioned for Wheezy to continue where he’d left off.

====-====-====-==== ISLE ONE- POST SMACK DOWN====-====-====-====

“He ain’t here Psy!”

“What? That floral floozy _never_ leaves his rainbow vomit garden!”

“Ha...leaves…”

“Not now Weepy, focus. We ain’t seen that mortal in a while, an you know how he is!” Two vine hands curled around Psycarrots’ shoulders. Psycarrots’ brothers both paled, Weepy even looked like he was sinking as slowly as possible into the dirt so he could bail before the garden’s owner saw the attempt.

“Hello, _boys._ ” Sharp nails dug into Psycarrot’s arms, but he gave up all hope the second he’d been caught. Thus, he simply broke out into a nervous sweat.

“’Ey Cags! How goes—oh okay.” Psycarrot went limp as Cagney plucked him out of the ground and rolled him over to his siblings. Psycarrot heard his Domain cackle, which didn’t make him feel any better. Cagney guffawed at their petrified stares, only able to hold the sadistic grin he’d had on since rising from the ground. The triplets grew so terrified they rounded back into the land of confusion, then made a left turn into curious.

“You feeling okay?” Weepy’s voice was weak, tiny, and just who the concern was for, no one could tell. Cagney snorted.

“You implying something?” He rested his chin on his palm, his elbow taking residence on a vine curving up through the air to act as an arm rest.

“Last we saw you, your sanity was somewhere near the fertilizer, ‘s all we’re saying.” Psycarrot, though loose with his grin, was tense everywhere else. Cagney squinted at Psycarrot.

“You implying my mind went to—”

“All we’re saying is you weren’t what we remember, its _obvious_ that you’re better!” Weepy interrupted, sharply jabbing Moe in the side when the potato snorted. “Which is wonderful, might we add. But uh, don’t you want to share the good news with Rumor?” Cagney shrugged.

“Sure, once the kid clears through.” The trio winced. Cagney found it entertaining. “Besides, our _wonderful_ Domain had a… an agreement, with his. He can take care of Kahl and Werner. _We, however._ ” Cagney’s vines curled around the trio. The triplets would have thought he was threatening them, but if anything he looked almost apologetic. “We got some groveling to do. _Heavy_ groveling.”

Psycarrot went to open his mouth, to ask just who they’d be groveling to if not the new god. Then they felt the bitter pulse cut through Inkwell, and horrified realization dawned on their faces. Psycarrot gave a weak laugh, their Domain gave an awkward cough, Cagney’s Domain stared off into the void.

Cagney cackled.

====-====-====-====

“Hey Cagney? What about the others? Shouldn’t they be groveling too?”

“You really think those toads are going to grovel?”

“Wait…where are they? We didn’t see them at all. Or Goopy! And you had to cross the river to get back didn’t you?”

“No, that stupid house was gone, but… now that you mention it…the river’s moving.”

“Oh!” The gods of Nature all gathered near the cliffside, looking down at the flowing water as if it was the first time they’d ever seen such a thing. Right up until the god of rivers launched out of the water with a boisterous cacophony of cheers. He latched onto Weepy’s face. Weepy shrieked, Moe cursed, Psycarrot and Cagney ignored it in favor of watching the river barge slowly drift into view. It was banged up, covered in blue goo and fly guts, but it was moving.

“There’s the stiffs! Got confused when I didn’t spot ya for a—oh you ain’t Cagney.” Goopy let himself roll off of Weepy, Weepy clutched his hands together by his chest. Goopy refocused on the other god, who simply stared back at him from the corner of his eye.

“Got my debts squared away,” Goopy answered. Cagney nodded, plucking the god up with one hand.

“Almost, Inkwell isn’t going to offer us a single lick of help, not with how angry it is right now. Up for some premium begging?” Cagney spoke loudly enough that the two emerging from the depths of the barge could hear too. Croaks was limping, nursing a bruised abdomen, and Ribby looked even worse. But, Cagney, nor the trio, spotted the same blinding arrogance they’d had before. Cagney hummed, his Domain whispered, but neither could really tell if it was the kid’s doing or Goopy that ultimately fixed the gods of victory. 

“How much grovelin’ you thinkin’ flower power?” Ribby rasped, easing his way down the gangplank, supporting his brother as best he could. The ones who’d been devoured wondered whether that was due to the fact that Croaks had been shot with retribution rather than devoured. They wondered what was worse, but their Domains had no answers.

Goopy, the only one to remain on the better side of judgement, simply wondered just why everyone kept glancing at the third Isle with mild fear. He listened to Cagney remark to Ribby, watched the group nod, and then looked off into the sea, wondering if his sister was going to end up like those around him.

He wondered if it was bad that he didn’t care if she did. Then again, if the rest came out better, and his Domain readily agreed that that was the case, then he figured he really had nothing to worry about. Either his sister would come out different, or she’d crush the little god, if she hadn’t already crushed that gods brother that is.

====-====-====-====

Mugman rested on the beach, thick fog concealing most everything around him, but that was nothing new. He was slowly filtering through his raging mind, putting useless thoughts into boxes to sort through later. He’d always been proud of how level-headed he could be, he wasn’t willing to lose that title by breaking down entirely just because of his current situation. The scenes that he knew were going to give him nightmares went in that folder, and promptly sank below seeing his brother crumble away. He took the anger he felt towards the gods, especially Kahl, for how callous they were. Shoving the questions down was harder, he couldn’t help but wonder just how the gods sank so far.

Well, he _knew why_ , but that just made him wonder how they’d forgotten what it was like to be mortal. The brothers heard about plenty of porcelain and metal beings making headway in various areas of art or medicine or invention and some of those porcelain beings had been around long before some of these gods, that much the boys knew. It was one of the many random facts given to them by Elder Kettle. Mugman supposed it might have something to do with the stress, or perhaps the adoration got to their heads. Whatever the reason, he had very little hope he’d meet anyone like the Baroness again.

As long as he never met Chalice, he supposed, he’d be fine. Then he added Kahl to that list, and went back to settling his mind.  Then he pulled the list back out, added as many gods as he could remember to the list, minus Baroness, and stuffed the list forcefully into a mental drawer. He had places to be, a likely impatient brother to fix, and a hostile Isle to survive. He glared at the sand under his shoes.

“If I die here, I want you to know I’m haunting _you._ ” He told the ground. The ground remained entirely unimpressed. He glared for a few more seconds, right until the unmistakable sound of sand shifting under feet drew his attention away. He glanced up, and a sword swished right through the area a neck would have been if he’d had one. He shuffled back, steps wobbly, heels barely catching enough ground to carry him from the threat.

A woman, what was left of her that is, shuddered, exposed ribcage expanding to the point of creaking audibly. He focused more on the sword clutched tightly within a skeletal hand. Tatters of long hair swirled down red clad shoulders. He wondered if the black and brown stains marring the once bright color of the fabric came from whatever had done her in or the result of her being done in. The rope around her note only told him so much, but then he decided he didn’t really care.

“No, that’s haunting _on_ you, not haunting _you._ A very distinct difference.” He quickstepped back again, wondering if it was only easier to be less afraid because she was obviously not a god. Or perhaps he’d finally snapped. He hoped he hadn’t, he liked his sanity. Then her jaw clacked wildly, the bits of flesh still left on her face squelched and he was back in the mausoleum again. His soul liquid turned to ice, his steps staggered, and the sword glanced off the strap of his bag. Free from a tight, unforgiving grip, with nothing oozing death into his head, he threw himself into a roll. The moment he popped back up he was off, sprinting back the way he’d come. She’d come from the beach, all that told him was that there was potential for _more_.

So, he shot towards sturdier pavement, using cracks in the ground to propel himself faster. She pursued him right up until he scaled a clock post. She gazed up at him with empty sockets, long picked clean by creatures and time. Though he wasn’t nearly as good as Cuphead at climbing things, adrenaline and speed allowed him to clear a good portion of the thing, enough that he was able to scrabble the rest of the way up.

The corpse rested her hands on her hips, as if to say ‘well, damn,’, and he returned the tilted head with one of his own. She couldn’t reach him up where he was, but he couldn’t move with her down there. She pointed to the beach, shook her head, then made her way back where she’d come from. With a clear head, he realized she’d intended to make him leave, not kill him. He wished he could ask her why, only, he didn’t think she could talk. Carefully, hesitantly, letting himself drop back to the ground, he watched her continue back into the fog.

There was a squeak by his feet. The twelve-year-old looked down.

There was a mouse by his feet, a see-through mouse. It was looking at his bag.

There was a ghost mouse by his feet.

Some part of him wondered just how one would get a ghost mouse. The rest of him had him reaching into his bag slowly, pulling out a cookie given to him by Baroness, and giving it to the dead mouse. The mouse reverently accepted the cookie, gazed up at him with starry eyes, and bailed back into the house next to the clock. He watched it vanish—cookie clutched tightly in its little ghost jaws—straight into a hole in the door. There were a few more squeaks, muffled by the door. Then a tall, lanky mouse, or rat, he couldn’t recall ever seeing one beyond one time in a book, stepped out. He had a helmet of all things on his head, pushing his ears down, and a cigar burning away, clenched between his teeth. The man stepped over to him, various trinkets of gold adorning his ears and feathered cape. He looked like he’d stepped out of a past in thick jungles—with his beaded sandals and swaths of vividly colored fabric standing out clear as day on his fur—and hastily snatched some modern clothes to add to the mix. The stained white tank top didn’t match the far more luxurious clothing.

“Normally…” The mouse started with a heavy accent, tongue struggling to wrap around unfamiliar words. “I would be dragging you back to my brother but! I hear the calls of war! So I shall leave you, and your offering of peace, to my…helpers.” He finished with a severe nod, turned back to his home, and that was that. Mugman immediately decided that mouse was by far his favorite murderous deity. Simply because he couldn’t recall a less dramatic meeting.

There was a squeak by his feet. The twelve-year-old looked down.

There were a metric ton of ghost mice surrounding him, the number of ethereal mice growing exponentially.  They crested up in a wave of whatever made up ghost mouse bodies, formed a giant mouse, and gave one great sniff. It, twice the size of Mugman, picked the boy up, let off a horrendous squeak, and began to waddle.

Mugman would dare anyone to scold him for not screaming or fighting the hold. He’d dare them to do the same while being carried like a doll by a giant mouse waddling around on its hind legs. He’d then point out the girl, who’d not made it too far really, jaw clattering to the floor as he was carried past her. He remained limp. He didn’t even flinch when he felt a third paw awkwardly—as if it was attempting stealth for the first time—reach into his bag, swipe a pecan bread roll, and return to the main body.

Behind him, he heard very loud shouts in a language he didn’t know. He took back believing that god wasn’t dramatic. Not when he heard crashes, bangs, and even more shouts, drifting away, towards Kahl’s place. The mouse continued waddling until it reached a dock. Then it dropped him carefully onto the docks.

He didn’t expect the booming shriek the mouse gave off. He should have, but he didn’t. After a few moments of nothing, he heard a bell clang twice, hidden by the fog. The girl, who’d caught up, began to wildly gesture to the mouse. The mouse gestured back. Mugman debated running. But the mouse was in his way, the girl was more of a hinderance at this point, and he could hear someone stomping their way up the dock. The girl, hearing it as well—he found this interesting, and wondered how many of her senses survived the decay—immediately moved to intercept.

She let out a loud, chattering sound, the bits of rot between her teeth loudly squelching whenever she snapped her jaw closed. He remained carefully distant, far more willing to stay near the ghost rat than the rotting corpse. From the thick fog emerged a man with a heavy build, a thick beard, and by far the scruffiest appearance he’d seen thus far. He was fairly certain this was the first god who didn’t have an elaborate outfit at all. The mouse had elaborate pieces, this guy had nothing.

The god squinted at him while the girl chattered away, Mugman stared back, holding his bag tightly by the strap. The mouse gestured wildly a few times, there was a monumental amount of squeaking from it, then it was gone. The pre-teen tried to be confused, only to find zero surprise instead. He’d take what he could get.

“Hush up lass! I won’t be turnin’ away a favor so quickly!” The god boomed, sending her a withering glare. She froze, nodded weakly, then waved him good-bye. He waved back, body tense.

“Names Brineybeard!” The man stuck his hand out sharply at Mugman, palm open. Mugman, with little hesitation—

‘ _Light.’_

–grabbed the hand with his own much smaller one. Brineybeard’s hand dwarfed his by leagues. Surprisingly, the god shook his hand gently, for all that his motions were violent.

“Right then boyo, we’ll be need’n t’ ship out quickly if we have any hope of avoiding Cala. Don’t you worry! Me ship will carry ye t’ safety no matter what! Come say hello!” He pulled Mugman along the dock, boards squeaking out protests. Mugman dutifully followed, wondering if he should give the man his name or not.

But then he was face to bow with a ship, and it was staring at him, with eyes that _definitely_ weren’t painted. Once again, he hesitantly waved.

“This be me pride an’ joy!” The god lovingly pat the ship’s stem. “Me crew!” He clarified despite Mugman giving him no sign of that being needed. Still, Mugman rather liked how adoring the man was of his crew, as a result, his body loosened. Brineybeard ushered him up the gangplank, merrily chatting about everything and nothing about his crew.

“Excuse me, but, what exactly did that mouse request?” Mugman queried, fingers playing with the cut on his bag’s strap. Brineybeard, who’d been in the middle of adjusting a line leading up to the main mast, scratched his beard.

“Asked me t’ carry ye t’ safety. Course, with Cala out an’ around, ain’t that easy. Oh but ye ain’t got nothin’ t’ worry about! Me crew won’t let anythin’ happen! That gal is fierce, but me girl is ten times more so!” Brineybeard laid a heavy hand on the nearest part of the ship. Mugman frowned.

“Oh but…I can’t leave. Something happened, my brother drank something we thought was safe… I—” Brineybeard shoved a gun powder covered hand over Mugman’s mouth, moving far faster than Mugman thought possible considering the man had no legs. He shushed Mugman, a needless action all things considered. Then he stood tall, and carefully leaned towards the sea.

“She be near’n.” He hissed. Mugman, unable to figure out what he meant, just stood still. Brineybeard stomped his peg leg twice, on the side of the ship, hatches opened, not even a squeak from the hinges cutting through the thick tension. “Ye must’a run across her brother. Look here lad, when she comes, stay out o’ sight. If ye can’t do that, stay out o’ her interest.”

“Brineybeard~” A sweet, cooing voice, the prettiest Mugman had ever heard, called from the thick fog. Brineybeard gave Mugman an imploring look.

“Jus’ stay low, I aim t’ be getting ye t’ safety, an’ these isles be the opposite. Whatever ye be needing, th’ god still free out there should be able t’ help ye.”

“He started this!” Mugman retorted, taking a quick step away from Brineybeard. Brineybeard arched both brows in shock. He went to ask something, but then there was a massive, far more massive than Mugman had ever seen, hand gripping the starboard railing. Brineybeard glared at it, unable to see the rest of the other, he had no idea where the body was. She showed herself a moment later, eyes fixed on the other god.

Mugman didn’t move, debating just how close to looking like a statue he could manage. The two immediately started on a banter that sounded beyond hostile, Brineybeard puffing himself up as much as possible, drawing her attention to him with practiced ease. The ship waited for his next order, or an opening, anything to allow it to get away with its new, fragile cargo. As Mugman watched, remaining still, since, he was quite certain moving would be more detrimental than anything else, he felt that familiar ill sensation well up in his chest. He’d have panicked, only he was too busy staring at the goddess in abject horror. Her ghastly figure simply didn’t match her sweet voice _at all._

Something curled deep in his soul, sending a burning sensation pulsing through his body. He would have been fine if she’d just been as she was, but instead, all he could see was countless souls etched in her skin, wailing, crying, pleading. The porcelain being had no idea how she was able to stay afloat the way she was with how _heavy_ she looked. He didn’t know what drew her attention to him, but whatever it was, her sharp gaze had him stagger back, face pure white. His chest shook, coughs shoving to escape, him refusing to let them.

She _grinned._

“Well that’s a surprise.” She cooed, leaning closer to the tiny mortal, ignoring Brineybeards warning growl.  “Not that you’ve stowed away on Brineybeard’s ship, but that you made it this far… in one piece.” She reached a hand out, the ship lurched, and she was sent back, clutching at the holes in her upper abdomen courtesy of the cannons still smoking. The ship plowed ahead, wind unfelt pulling the sails taught in their rigging. Mugman collapsed, chest rattling in ways he’d never heard before. There was an enraged shriek behind them, the boat gave off a determined groan, and sped up.

Brineybeard threw himself to the wheel, answering the creaks and squeaks with shouts as the water behind them shifted, displaced by more than just the ship. Mugman stayed where he was, digging out anything his hand could grab on to relieve the burning coursing through him. Hand brushing against a vial, he didn’t bother to check what it was before he ripped it out and drank down the sweet honey. Immediately the burning fled, shoved back by the soothing honey. Tears ran down his cheeks, his hand pressed tightly to his chest.

The ship rocked violently to one side, Mugman slid, smooth porcelain unable to keep a grip on the wood. He grabbed ahold of the banister, eyes going wide as the ship was lifted clear out of the water. Cala’s face returned, lips pulled back, viciously sharp teeth on full display. The less hysterical part of his mind played with the idea of her and Cagney having a ‘who has the most intimidating smile’ competition.

She held the ship like a kid holding a toy boat, only, this toy boat had live rounds. The blast seemed even louder this time, but that could have been because the massive cannons near the bow had shot their own ammunition. Fire rained down around them, targeting Cala Maria specifically, though some pieces hit the deck, most hit their mark. She let out the most horrendous wail he’d ever heard, body rattling from the sheer volume. Then she dropped the ship.

Mugman, as the ship slammed down onto the side he was on, as his hold proved too weak, as he fell into the water, glared at Inkwell still visible in the distance. Then the ocean was pulling him down, the ship was rocking back up, being far more buoyant than him, and he was slipping further into the depths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really, at this point Mugman could say 'how could it get any worse' and fate would wind up scratching its head as to how to make that happen.   
> Cuphead meanwhile, well he's on a mission. He's got a score to settle, and woe to anyone that gets in his way. Battle goddess she may be, Rumor isn't used to fighting anymore, that, and Kahl and Werner have Innovation and Creativity on their sides. If she'd have had some backup, well, that's different. Brineybeard! How do you think he's been judged? Or even Cala Maria, her?  
> Yes, i also did a quick backstep so the first isle could be seen after the beat down it received. Then a sidestep into a place no deity can enter uninvited.


	16. Dani Kahl-ifornia, Rest in Piece(s)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Judgement never felt so sweet. Stress finally digs too deep into the cool, level-headed child.

That god had said Cuphead couldn’t exactly dally on any of these deities. And while he’d have loved to listen to her ramble, he frankly couldn’t care less about Rumor when compared to his brother. He bailed the moment he realized she wasn’t going to have any other useful information immediately forthcoming. Cuphead could safely say he was at least happy he didn’t need to think about trying to fix her, not with Grim being worked on currently. He dearly didn’t want to feel that heaviness again.

Not until he got to Kahl. Oh, he’d make the sacrifice then, do it with a happy little grin. He hadn’t reacted much when in front of Rumor, mostly because he didn’t feel like that would have helped him get past her more quickly. As soon as those doors closed and the elevator began to descend, his soul liquid _steamed_. The lights above him flickered under the sheer pressure rolling off of his form. The thing that held him back, the thing that made it easier for him to think clearly beyond his usual blind rage, was that he hadn’t seen through Kahl’s eyes. For all he knew, someone else had put Mugman into that state. Maybe through Rumor’s eyes Kahl was horrible but he might not actually be that bad. Not that he was holding his breath for that to be the case.

He left the luxurious building with a determined stride, moving faster than he had on the other Isles. The fog on this Isle, thick as it was, did exactly nothing to slow him down. He followed the street, followed the echo of _something_ calling for him further into the depths of the mist. It sounded…sweet, felt warm, almost reminding him of his brother’s humming. Almost, but this sounded more beckoning than soothing. As if it was calling for him, urging him to find it. His Domain eagerly urged him further on, following the call, forgetting to answer the questions Cuphead asked about just what the call was.

Realizing it was pointless to ask, and not minding the surprise when he found it, he confidently dove deeper into Isle three. Below his feet, his shadow fixated on the buildings hidden to the little god by fog.

 It couldn’t remember the last time it had been so _excited._

====-====-====-====

Cuphead stared at the building before him, having discovered that the siren song came from two different locations on this side, at least, the strongest on the Isle, the ones most readily heard. As he moved further in, he heard more songs calling, but they paled in comparison to these two. It wasn’t like the buildings on Isle two, faded to the point of defying gravity by staying upright. It, and the two beside it, were decently cared for, or rather, had survived better. Sure, he couldn’t, for the life of himself, tell what their original colors were, what with the black film coating them. Frankly, he couldn’t bring himself to care. What he _did_ care about, was the broken window, and the building cackling rising up from his shadow.

Without any more of a pause, he opened the door, breaking the lock easily. Throwing it open, he strode in as if he owned the place. It was dusty, but there were clear signs of recent interactions based on the clean spots where dust once sat. He recognized the tread of his brothers boots, a sinking feeling coiling in his gut.

“Oh really now! Another intruder! I swear I—” Red eyes locked onto the fork nursing a dented face.

‘ _Heavy.’_

“Well gosh, you remind me of someone that came by not too long ago.”

_‘Heavier.’_

“Don’t recall ever getting a name from the fella but you wouldn’t happen to be related, would you?”

_Heavier.’_

“Why, you _must_ be related! You even have that same golden glow in your eye!”

The world _bent_ , twisting _heavily_ , furniture sinking below blackened waves. Between the fork—Forkington, the plate read—sat a gorgeous set of weighing scales. Gilded gold, decorated on one side to match the golden collar around Cuphead’s shoulders and blue on the other. It was held above the waters by a single, deep black tower, rising high above them.  Gold dotted its surface; ancient inscriptions he knew he could read but never recalled ever seeing before shining in the light cast by the feather sitting on one side. Forkington himself stood on the blue scale, fear rolling from him in waves.

 _‘ **Heavier.**_ ’

He didn’t recognize the voice, but his mind was slipping away, falling under the crushing malevolence his Domain practically drooled. He tried to keep afloat, desperate to not have another incident like the Root Pack happen again. He didn’t fancy losing control of his body to something, even if that something was the reason he was alive once more. The scale on Forkington’s side was already dipping into the water, the feather rising higher into the air. The moment the entirety of it was submerged, leaving Forkington’s feet to nervously shuffle in the water, a bright, crystal clear chime rang through the area.

_‘ **Too heavy.’**_

The scales vanished, not a hint of them ever having been present remained. The feather quietly drifted back down to the water. Cuphead felt his mouth curl up into an unnaturally wide grin that wasn’t of his own making. His eyes cast a bright gold glow but were over powered by the feather shining like a beacon on his back. Forkington staggered back, legs shaking as if under impressive weight. The young god felt laughter bubble up from his chest, despite him not being the one causing it to do so.

“I-I don’t… Is this about the club? He never returned! I was ready to throw him—” Water rose up to Forkington’s knees. Drenching his pants, making him stumble back. Cuphead stared at the dent on Forkington’s face. As the water began to shift, waves lapping and growing higher as they approached Forkington, he watched.

He watched the mortal before him throw himself at Kahl, pleading for upgrades, for perfection. The man had always worshiped the illustrious instruments the decorated God crafted, admired the craftsman ship. He’d gladly let Kahl find what made metal beings like him tick, what made them potentially different from those like the axe on Isle One. Forkington, believing himself elevated beyond the status of even his fellow metal types, grew astoundingly arrogant. Yet, he recalled how pleased Kahl had been while doing the experiments, and had wanted dearly to give his precious deity _more._

For a while it grew hard. So few mortals Kahl had any interest in. Kahl had plenty of experience with flesh after all, he simply used himself as an experiment for that. Forkington had gotten lucky when he’d found the musically inclined gramophone. That one hadn’t even realized what was happening until it was too late. After that, there was nothing. Not a single mortal willing to go near enough to him. It had hurt at first, but then he’d realized his _perfection_ must have been intimidating to them. With that, he’d managed to land a couple others, Kahl had thanked him. Forkington was controlled enough to save his swooning for _after_ leaving the labs. Then the number of potential gifts fell to zero. He couldn’t find much of anything alive at all besides those under Rumor’s Domain.

Until a pearly white porcelain child with lovely blue eyes and so _many imperfections._ Imperfections that, as Forkington knew, would be _easy_ for Kahl to fix. The mermaid was caught by Kahl, but this one, a rarity simply because Porcelain types didn’t like going places they flat out knew weren’t conducive to healthy lives. This one was to be a fine offering. He was plenty certain that once returned, the boy would make for wonderful company for either him or Kahl. Perhaps even Werner would enjoy the intelligence and creativity the boy showed in how he evaded Forkington.

Catching him had been a stroke of luck, _such a stroke of luck_. Kahl too, aware of the boys’ presence, happily thanked his loyal worshipper. The robot that had picked the boy up had been nothing short of _perfection._ Those lovely blue eyes, Forkington hoped they survived, especially when they proved to be unique in the ability to change to a wonderful gold. Not as nice as silver or chrome of course, but lovely all the same. Sure, the kick had been less than nice. Forkington was forgiving though, and when the boy returned, fixed up, he’d gladly accept an apology. Besides, he knew how frightful it could be the first time one met someone as _perfect_ as a deity. The poor thing was probably simply lashing out from fear, forgiveness really was Forkingtons’ only option.

There was a ringing in Cuphead’s mind, drowning out every other noise. His brother had sounded _horrible_ as he coughed. But what caught his attention, what dragged him back away from the memories not his own, was the golden glow of Mugman’s eyes. He wondered if he looked as scary as Mugman had when his own eyes took on that golden shine. A small part of him pointed and laughed at Hilda Berg for doubting that Mugman was his sibling even in godhood.

Then the screaming across from him began.

Every single time a god had been dealt with, when retribution came over them in the form of his Domain, he’d only seen them get mauled a bit before being dragged below the surface.

**‘ _Judgment.’_ **

His Domain said in a drawling, low hiss, voice sending ripples across the water, adding to the waves rising to Forkington’s hips by now. The way it said the word was almost euphoric, like there was nothing better in the world than what was currently going on. Cuphead bet jokingly that his Domain _clearly_ had never bested a homicidal squirrel at its own game before. It was the little quips that kept his mind in place, barely gripping on as it was. Not that his Domain seemed to care.

The jokes died when the first set of teeth bit clear through Forkington’s leg. The mortal opened his mouth, to scream or speak, Cuphead didn’t know. He watched in dumb fascination as another set of teeth gleaming against a fathomless formless body, ripped apart Forkington’s right hand, dragging the man into the waters with a chattering cackle. It was right about that moment that Forkington found his voice.

Oddly enough, Cuphead no longer heard anything other than that chime. So he watched as the man was torn to pieces, dragged below the waves by his sins, his faults, silently.

====-====-====-====

As the world came back into focus, free from whatever place his Domain, or his magic now he supposed, dragged people to, Cuphead’s hearing returned. More accurately, it fixed itself. Forkington laid on the ground, babbling odd, broken nothings, crumpled in a mangled heap. The wires poking out from Forkington’s sleeves sparked, but that only made the man twitch, unnaturally wide-eyed blank stare seeing nothing.

Cuphead shuddered, wondering if this was worse than the judgement the gods received. They seemed to have their sins carved from them, renewing them for a chance to shed their corruption. Forkington though, he was _broken_ , weighed down, twisted under the sheer amount of atrocities done by his own, willing hand.

He didn’t think Forkington would be springing up the way Cagney had.

No longer hearing the call, and only just realizing he’d lost time on the guy who’d evidently handed his brother to Kahl on a _silver_ platter. He gave one last glance at the twitching figure, the barest hint of worry chewing into his soul.

_‘Let our Scale come to resolve this. We have more to do.’_

Cuphead nodded, turning on his heel and running back out the door. Not even bothering to waste time standing around to question how those scales manifested when they’d never done so before.

====-====-====-====

The area leading into Kahl’s home was, simply put, the after image of a war zone. Craters dotted the area, bits of broken bodies—organic and inorganic alike—laid sprawled in mangled heaps. He could see heavy lines gouged into the ground, remembered the swords Rumor had wielded in her memories, and shuddered to think of what those things could do to someone like him.

As he got closer to the building with the most damage, the chimes grew louder, the steady call urged him to move faster. He nimbly leapt and rolled over obstacles as he near sprinted for his goal tucked away in the main building. He spied a massive pipe curling over the roof, and as he followed it, he realized it wasn’t so much a pipe as it was an arm. To the biggest robot he’d ever seen in his life. Granted, the thing had massive pieces carved out of it and was still shooting out sparks, but it was neat all the same.

He wished it hadn’t been built by a crazy god.

All through his quick journey to Kahl, he thought of exactly how he was going to handle it. How he was going to burst in, cocky and bright, ready with numerous quips on his tongue. How he was going to make room for the God of Innovation, of Ideas, in wherever his Domain stored gods to be repaired. He imagined possibly punching a tooth out to present to Mugman as proof that big brother was on top of things and looking out for him. He’d then ignore Mugman’s raised brow and remark of ‘we’re twins, no one knows which of us is older,’ in favor of the thanks sure to follow.

All of that, all of his bravado, his righteous but controlled fury, died the second he burst into the lab. The table was amazingly untouched, but that just allowed for him to see the pool of blue tinted soul liquid. He caught sight of bits and pieces of white porcelain dotting the area, and the charred corpse still sitting on a smaller rolling table nearby. His nose picked up the all too familiar scent of his brother, and then he didn’t quite remember anything else.

He _thought_ he’d found Kahl muttering away in a machine, probably fixing it by the looks of things. He _maybe_ recalled how Kahl had taken one look at him and vacillated between intrigue and unmitigated _terror._ He thought there was something said to Kahl, but he couldn’t recall using any of the cool puns and quips he’d thought up before-hand. Which was a shame really, he thought they were good. His Domain remained rather quiet about it when he asked too. He wondered if the scales had reappeared, but he couldn’t be too certain.

What he did know, was that his steps behind him were staggered and wonky, as if he had forgotten how small his stride was. He was even more aware of the fact that he was _drenched_ in thick blood, not unlike the stuff Kahl had bled. What else was _odd_ , was the fact that his breathing was heavy, his chest heaving to suck in air he didn’t truly need. His hands too, shook. He got the feeling that his Domain had once more shoved him down, taking over his own body. Only, he didn’t _feel_ the same as he had the first time it had happened. Which implied he’d been in control the entire time. So, he stared at his filthy hands, and wondered just what had happened.

At the very least, he thought, he didn’t feel quite as heavy, despite the two Domains now joining his own.

Cuphead continued on his way, unsure of just where to go now, other than that there were more calls ringing out. So, brushing bits of glass from his clothes, peeling what looked like a bit of scalp—though he _dearly_ hoped it wasn’t, he didn’t want to think of how it got there—he headed for the beach, using the streets to guide him.

====-====-====-====

The other two Isles inhabitants shuddered as unearthly howls ripped through the oppressive fog of Isle Three. Something on that Isle, something the likes of which they’d never encountered, was _infuriated_. Every single living thing, from the Root pack helping a terrified but willing Mac back to his feet, to Bon Bon putting a new set of panels onto Creampuffs side, thanked Inkwell that they hadn’t been the target of such a thing.

A few of them, like Djimmi, wondered if it was Inkwell finally having enough, but then he had to focus on peeling the wires from the tiny body of Wally’s son so he could fix the rest of the boy without worrying about interference. Wally and Hilda watched, going quiet as the air grew impossibly still after the howls stopped.

====-====-====-====

Mugman had gone into the ocean numerous times. There was little else to do on the small area allowed to them by Elder Kettle. He recalled the first time they stepped into the water, little bodies shivering dramatically at the sudden burst of definite cold. Why they’d shivered he didn’t recall. He guessed that had been because they’d seen others do that in the city streets when splashed by rain puddles. He remembered his brother going for broke and just diving in, wanting to prove he was braver than Mugman. He’d come up crying about salt in his head and mouth. Mugman had been far more intrigued by the starfish clinging to his brother’s straw to care about his brother’s whining.

After he too had gone under, shoved by his brother no less, he himself had stayed down. He’d let his body sink the couple feet and a half until he came to a rest on the smooth sand. He’d stared up at the bright blue sky, entranced at how everything looked so different through the water. Their little bay had decently clear water, enough for him to see a few yards ahead, and he’d been so curious he’d forgotten about everything else. He certainly was reminded when Elder Kettle hauled him out of the water so his wailing brother could sputter apologies to him.

Elder Kettle had only then told the two they weren’t like the flesh, lung bearing types they read about in their books. They could stay under the water far longer, but not forever. He’d warned them that the soul liquid in their heads could only withstand around an hour fully submerged before it became too thin and they’d grow too dizzy to make it back to the surface. Elder Kettle had gone on to tell them about how there were likely numerous porcelain bodies dotting the floor of the ocean. It had given the two nightmares, and neither had wanted to approach the water again for a good month.

As he drifted lower and lower, he almost laughed at the thought that if the ship hadn’t tried to run, he might not still be sinking. Then he remembered his book, and how the bag wasn’t even remotely made to be waterproof. He almost sighed, realizing the thing was probably illegible now, ink lifting off the pages, making it an impossible mess. The potions, he knew would be fine, same with the honey, but the treats in the bag were likely goners too, which meant all of Baronesses hard work had been wasted. He hoped she wouldn’t be offended to learn he’d been unable to try the things she’d so kindly snuck into his bag.

Above him, he could see the ship slicing through the waves to lay into Cala Maria with every bit of ammo it had. He figured he could start moving now, but Elder Kettle had never taught them how to swim, and Porcelain types were excessively sinkable. Then he wondered if he’d find any other porcelain sorts at the bottom, he wondered what would happen if he dragged them up from the depths, if they’d suddenly come back to life. He curiously moved his arms out, pushing them out and down to see what would happen. His body shifted with the motion, drifting for a few seconds towards the Isle, then it resumed its steady descent straight down. So, with nothing better to do, he did it again.

He idly thought he was in this situation because of how he’d thought about how he’d sooner take salt water over corpse. ‘ _Jokes on you Inkwell, fate…whatever, I meant that. Corpse is still more gross than this. You’d know that too if you weren’t too busy playing terrible luck roulette with me.’_ He squinted up at the surface, wishing the sun was out so he could watch the light play with the waves. That had been his favorite thing when he’d gotten brave enough to go deeper. Cuphead never had, still scarred by the stories and how quickly Mugman had simply vanished under the water.

Mugman bet if his brother was there, he’d have dove in to go save Mugman, panicked immediately, and would have to be dragged out by Mugman. The image made him snort, then wince at the bite of salt now on his tongue and in his nose. He checked his progress, oddly amused to find himself closer to the docks. Right until a barnacle covered face sprang out of the darkness surrounding him. He just about shrieked, flailing badly enough that he sank an extra few feet. Only once he realized it was a wooden woman carved onto the bow of a ship did he regain his senses enough to grab onto her outstretched hand stump and stop his descent.

He shuddered at the blank gaze she watched him with. Following her arm up to her shoulder, trying to avoid drifting any closer but no lower, he used her to find his way onto the sunken ship. The beautifully carved hand rails, the rusted heaps he guessed to be cannons, the bones… He took it in, unhurried in his pace, now fearing he’d run into another ship, or a body. One that wasn’t just the skeleton. He passed over an oddly bright lump, and because he couldn’t see the harm, he leaned closer. He pulled his upper body up over the railing to try and figure out what had kept the white coloration despite everything else falling to the erosion. Empty eye sockets, a broken, shattered mouth, and a twisted hand with cracks lining it down to the elbow came fully into view right about the time he was too close to move away.

His body overcorrected in his sudden panic and he fell face first onto a crushed chest. Pushing himself back up, he threw himself away from the body as the head shifted, eyeless gaze seemingly locking onto his own horrified one. The hand crumbled into glittering dust.

Mugman moved quickly after that, wanting to be as far away from that body as he possibly could. Luckily for him, he could still see the outline of Inkwell, which was all he needed to press on faster than ever. He glanced back, trying to figure out how the battle was going. It appeared to him that Brineybeard was winning, but he couldn’t be too sure. He was even less sure if he cared, but then he decided that yes, Brineybeard had been quite nice to him, a tad brash, had a listening problem all other gods seemed to have, but not intentionally cruel. So, he did, in fact, hope Brineybeard was doing okay. He hoped Cala Maria would give up once she realized he wasn’t aboard the ship and leave Brineybeard alone.

A part of him hoped whatever had appeared on her skin dragged her under so she couldn’t rip at the sails or tear off one of the masts. But, knowing that wasn’t likely to happen, he pieced together a potential plan for helping Brineybeard. He would need to get to the surface though. So, despite the fear of running into another porcelain corpse he moved quicker once more. Pressing on, using the ship, then another ship that had been torn in half to basically shove himself to the pillars of the dock where he then scaled them quickly.

The water was amazing at many things, but what it truly excelled at was muffling sound. The moment his head rose above the rippling waves he was assaulted by a monstrous boom courtesy of the weapons decorating Brineybeards ship and Cala Maria’s shrieks. Mugman was _almost_ impressed, he didn’t know someone could go from having a lovely voice to sounding like a hundred dolphins gagging on kazoos. Either way, he almost went back underwater just to escape the horrible noise. Brineybeard wasn’t going to get out of trouble on his own though, so he hauled himself up, leaving his mouth open to let salt water pour out.

He inched his way back to the mainland, right until he was at the edge of the waterline. Then he turned to face the water, and tested something he’d always wondered.

“Excuse me, water? I’m not too sure this isn’t just silly, but I’ve done worse and will likely continue to do so. Could you perhaps tell your goddess she’s embarrassing herself at this point? I’m not even there any more and I’m one hundred percent certain if she keeps wailing like that the whales are going to start searching for injured and dying brethren. Do they do that? I don’t really care, just, she’s embarrassing herself, like I’m probably embarrassing myself.” With that, he let the last dregs of salty soul liquid drip from his mouth and turned his attention on the battle.

The battle that had abruptly halted.

Now, the two gods weren’t too far out that he couldn’t make out Cala Maria’s face. Which was great for Mugman considering he’d never in his life seen someone do such a grand impression of tasting something so disgusting every muscle in their face rebelled. Cala Maria did though, she pulled it off so well he didn’t think he’d ever see someone top it. Every single muscle in her face was scrunched to the perfect degree for maximum effect. He almost clapped, almost being the operative word. Because the moment she locked eyes with him, she flared a vivid green across her face and shoulders and was promptly diving back underwater.

He didn’t wait to see if she was coming after him, he simply called a thanks to water, assuming it must have shared the message with its child. That or she had great hearing, either way, his job was done, Brineybeard was no longer under assault, and he was hauling it as fast as he could away from the waterline.

====-====-====-====

He impressed himself when, while passing by a disturbingly stained mausoleum, he didn’t even hesitate or stumble in his step. Not even when something reached for him and he smacked it away without even a glance. His bravery lasted right until he heard that goddesses voice, chuckling far too close to his head to be comfortable, forcing him to dive into the little shop he’d avoided thus far.

He made it two steps in before he remembered how badly his instincts had wanted him to avoid the place. But then he caught sight of gold, of a cruel smile on a pale face, and he figured whatever was in here couldn’t match her. He specifically thought that because at this point, he was daring Inkwell to get _creative._

Indeed, the grotesque figure of a pig easily twice his size and three times his weight merely got an eyebrow raise from the drenched child. Mugman stared tiredly at the shopkeeper if the apron was anything to go by. The shopkeeper stared back, observing the shivering frame, the bland stare, the tiny frown, and though he had been ready to crush the intruder to his little bit of solitude and safety, he instead shrugged. He waved a few flies away from his rotted stump of an arm and leaned on the counter so he could get a better look.

In response, Mugman pressed his hands onto his bag and a torrent of water poured from the seams. Porkrind snorted, admittedly impressed by how little the kid in front of him seemed to care. Reaching behind his counter, patting away as much dust as he could, he grabbed something he figured wouldn’t see much use anyway, and tossed it over to the boy. Mugman caught it, surprise flashing across his eyes. He looked back at the shopkeeper who gestured with the rotted stump to a little back room by the counter. Mugman opened his mouth, ready to politely refuse.

Then a fish leapt out of his head and onto the floor where it proceeded to wiggle uselessly on the wooden boards.

The two wordlessly stared at it. Slowly, a blue flush curled across Mugman’s cheeks, and he quietly shuffled into the back room, accepting the towels also offered up. Ten minutes later he reemerged from the little bathroom, holding his soaked bag away from his dry, slightly too big, clothing. He didn’t comment on how the fish was no longer flopping uselessly on the floor. He especially didn’t comment on the distinct bit of fin sticking out of the shopkeepers exposed teeth.

“Headin’ for the Devil’s place I s’pose.” The impressively gravelly voice made Mugman drop his bag in surprise. He winced at the squelching sound it let off.

The two quietly watched another three fish slide out of the open flap.

Porkrind held up a new bag, remaining eyebrow reaching high. Mugman scooped the fish up, plopping them down on the counter and taking the bag. He ignored the ensuing crunching noises as he moved things over. He’d lost quite a bit during his underwater swim, not that he expected less. But he still had a couple potions remaining as well as three vials of honey. He passed two more fish wedged under the ruined book to Porkrind, ignoring the imploring gazes they seemed to give him.

“Gonna have to get past Sally and Phantom if ya’ wanna chat with the big furball down under.”

“Sally?”

“Goddess of the stage, least that’s her nickname.”

“She related to Beppi?”

“She is.”

“Hmm..”

The two were quiet. About as quiet as one could get while chowing down on fish.

“Did you know there’re a bunch of cars just rustin’ away by her theater?” Porkrind idly picked at the scales lodged in his teeth, accidentally picking a piece of his gums instead. He let it drop to the floor and went back to excavating scales. Mugman shook his head.

“It’s not likely that I’ll be able to avoid her is it?” The train didn’t worry him, he figured he could just wait for it to speed past and hop across the tracks before it came back.

“Nope, theater of hers is a nark. It’ll squeal on ya faster than you can quote Hamlet.” Mugman snorted, covering his mouth with his hands to try and suppress the giggles. Porkrind realized his own pun and nodded in defeat to himself. “Might be able to use those cars to make an attempt to blaze past.”

“Or I could drive it right into the theater doors, make a grand entrance on my own terms.”

Porkrind stared at the kid, the kid prodded at the book sitting in a puddle by his feet.

“I can reach the pedals.” He finally said after deciding ‘fuck it, ain’t got nothing better to do’. Mugman _smiled_ , bright blue gaze far more chipper than they’d been when he’d entered the store.

====-====-====-====

Mugman wasn’t sure what to think as Porkrind got to fixing up their chosen ride. He guessed Porkrind hadn’t been lying about not being able to avoid meeting the woman if the way the building sat close to the only bridge leading further up. Beyond it, he heard a train whistle on occasion. But the building itself, with all its glitzy lights and lovingly kept brickwork, felt less like a theater and more like a sentinel. It was the only building this far up, that he could see.

Had he been his brother, or just more confident in his climbing skills, he’d have tried for scaling the cliffs on the other side. But that too offered up an issue in the form of a lurking ocean goddess. Either way, he was without a book, without a clear picture to show anyone who could possibly answer the single question he’d had since coming here. At this point, if Inkwell and its inhabitants were going to ruin his day, he was only going to let them do it on _his_ terms.

The roar of an engine caught his attention, and he returned it to Porkrind who proudly sat in the far too small drivers seat. He was squished in, proud, but squished. Mugman got into the passenger seat, then was promptly moved to the back by Porkrind.

“ ‘S gonna be a bumpy entrance.” The shopkeeper remarked, not sparing the boy a second glance as he got the car into motion. The machine chugged along, as if protesting moving after what was likely decades of no use. Porkrind drove it around just enough—he claimed—to warm the engine up, then, with the vehicle facing the building,

He gunned it.

====-====-====-====

Being a goddess of the stage, of the Arts, had its plusses and minuses. The plus side was bringing life to words via the talents of dedicated actors. The downside was how bored the goddess could get so quickly. A century plus on an isolated Isle didn’t make for an entertaining time. Especially when almost no one came to watch the same old plays done over and over again.

She’d been contemplating new takes on old tales while lounging at the ticket counter. She’d began doing that so anyone wanting a show could request from the list by the door and she could whip up the set before they even sat down. The car had been interesting, she couldn’t recall anyone using those things besides her for props. Still, it was simply a car, and for all she knew someone else had decided the things would be useful. She’d bet money on it being Kahl.

She closed her eyes, letting her mind go back to new ways to make Medea new again.

Then her theater started letting out increasingly panicked squeaks.

Then there was a car embedded in the ticket counter and she was now sprawled across the hood.

The driver, a shopkeeper, stared at her with a bland, bored look. Behind him, a tiny mortal popped his head out, gaze focusing on her. Everyone was silent for a few moments. The little mortal opened his mouth.

“Did you know there are these things called drive-in theaters now?”

“Hope they’re playin’ Hamlet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Indeed, Drive in theaters were patented in 1933. A little somethin' somethin' for y'all. 
> 
> Honestly that's all I got for this little blurb... Think this sucker is pretty self explanatory.  
> Oh, I'm fairly certain Cuphead is around two and a half days behind Mugman's trip at this point, what with the odd moments he takes to pause. Maybe three. Either way...  
> I can safely say there might be another chapter soon. I'm still researching creatures of the world anyway.


	17. Stages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My eyes are burning from staring at the screen for so long but hey! Why Sally, what odd habits you have!

Walking through the town, dilapidated though it was, brought memories of their trip through town to the forefront of Cuphead’s mind. He remembered how awed they’d been at the sheer amount of _everything._ So used to the quiet around their house, it’d rendered the two speechless for a good while. Elder Kettle had remarked on how this was nothing to be amazed at, telling them they hadn’t even gone into the central part. The boys had turned pleading gazes to him, begging for him to let them see everything. He’d laughed deeply, pressing hands to their backs to urge them forward.

“As long as you don’t leave my sight or stray too far, you can explore until nightfall, then we’ll have to head back.” He’d told them. Not willing to lose their chance, the two readily agreed. Cuphead had taken Mugman’s hand, proclaiming he’d find all the best places, and charged ahead. Mugman had been the one to keep an eye on Elder Kettle, figuring if he could see Elder Kettle, then Elder Kettle could see them. He’d also tug on Cuphead’s sleeve when they started getting too far away. Despite not liking the slower approach, desperate to see as much as he could, Cuphead allowed it. If only to be sure Elder Kettle wouldn’t take them back to the house.

Cuphead recalled how the smells, the sights, the crowds, all astounded him. With stars in their eyes the boys explored, obeying Elder Kettle when he warned them not to go here or there. Cuphead had whispered to Mugman that later on, when Elder Kettle let them go off on their own, he’d explore those places then. Mugman had asked if he’d do it on his own, and Cuphead had laughed. At the time, Cuphead couldn’t picture being by himself at all. He always factored his brother into the daydreamed adventures his mind crafted.

He clearly recalled spotting the first signs of the carnival the town was hosting at the time. He later wondered if Elder Kettle had planned for them to visit when it was there so they’d get an even more grand experience. While he’d never really asked, he liked to cling to the hope that Elder Kettle indeed had. Though he’d forbidden them from eating anything, or drinking anything, they’d still had plenty of fun darting around, keeping close enough to Elder Kettle that the god remained calm. They’d even managed to talk to a few other people. Mugman nervously keeping behind Cuphead during those conversations unless something caught his attention enough for him to join in.

Cuphead loved that day dearly. He didn’t recall a time when they’d had more fun. Sure, by the time they were heading home Elder Kettle had to carry two exhausted children, but all were happy. Cuphead smiled to himself at the memory of Mugman writing down all the treats they’d seen so he’d be able to try all the ones he wanted. Both boys were, despite their joy each time they got them, were tired of the same old sweets. The hard candies were more like flavored ice, made to stay hard even during the summer. There’d also only ever been two flavors, though he thought he recalled one time when there’d been a third, only, he couldn’t recall anything other than that. They knew Elder Kettle made the sweets too, mainly because they’d seen him do so. He once claimed it was to be sure the sweets were good for his growing boys, and the two hadn’t really argued it. There’d been no need after all. So, with memories of running around under the watchful gaze of their caretaker, Cuphead forgot to pay attention.

====-====-====-====

It wasn’t often that Cuphead was stunned speechless. Or, it hadn’t been. And then he died a horrible death, popped up as a god, learned many new things he thought could have been more useful knowing before he hopped the mortal coil, and found himself chasing after his brother on a hostile Isle full of frankly rude deities. So, to be more accurate, it would be better to say Cuphead didn’t think anything could surprise him anymore.

Then a metric ton of ghost rats burst out of a house he was passing by and there was a glowing mouse guy with a bunch of torn feathers with no arms screaming at him in a language he couldn’t understand. His Domain helpfully _started_ to translate, only to _slowly_ peter out as the things being said grew more graphic. Cuphead tired, still dazed from his last incident and entirely annoyed at losing the image of happier times, squinted at the irritated god. He knew, with help from common sense and his Domain assuring him his hunch was right, that this was Kahl’s brother. So, from one brother to another, he raised himself to his full height, let his face lose all of its expression—he’d long since found that even Elder Kettle was highly unnerved when the two children killed their features and _owned_ the porcelain aspect.

“He started it when he went after my brother.” Cuphead made sure his voice was equally plain. The cold gold glow of his eyes only added to the overall effect. The man abruptly paused, glaring at him, but noticeably not trying to tower over him anymore.

“And you have taken mine from me! You even had the gall to approach my house, covered in my brother’s blood! What else could that be other than a clear declaration of war?”

“A clear declaration of my retribution, I’d think that would be obvious. You aren’t a war god, so…” Cuphead loosely rolled his hands in a lazy circle, gesturing for the other to finish his sentence.

“Creativity, yes, even so! War has my heart now, so war is what I am!”

“Oh? So, all I have to do is really want something else and that’ll change my Domain? Neat!” The sarcasm dripping from Cuphead’s voice ruffled Werner’s fur.

“I feed from my brother. He has an idea, I take it and build upon it, branch from it, grow it. We followed the desire of the mortals, they wanted things that go boom and we delivered that and more!” Werner, unwilling to listen to a young child judge him, and unable to do much unless the kid was willing to stand and let the god headbutt him, Werner accepted the defeat. He bitterly cursed the little god as he stormed towards his house. Cuphead however, wasn’t willing to let it go. Not when the man could very easily be a threat after Cuphead got his brother back.

“I thought you could do more than that! I read that people would bring you ideas and you’d bring them to life! When did that change for either of you?” He called out, raising his voice enough for it to carry through the muttering. Werner froze, foot up in the air, mid-step. He glanced back at Cuphead, listening to the mournful whispers of a bored Domain that had long since abandoned him. The god, unable to answer, shrugged. He decided he’d think about that _after_ he got his own sibling back. For now, he was still tired, his rats were still out looking for ways to speed up his healing, and he just wasn’t in the mood to do more than daydream. He didn’t even bother to care that his Domain wasn’t demanding he get revenge for his own sibling. Only bothering to loosely acknowledge the fact that it meant his brother was likely safe.

Cuphead sighed, letting the man get back into his house with the help of a massive ghost rat. He continued on after coming to understand that Werner simply wasn’t going to come out until either he was healed or Kahl returned. But to Cuphead, that was fine as long as the god wasn’t a threat. If push came to shove, he’d shoot the god, well aware there was no way he’d be able to add another to the void that was his Domain.

====-====-====-====

He continued on, thoughts wandering far too much for him to keep properly aware of his surroundings. He thought about how all of them mentioned how their Domain’s left them at some point. Though it was different for many of them, he wondered if the Domain’s weren’t also at fault.

“If they hadn’t hopped ship, would the gods have been less corrupted?” He asked no one in particular. His Domain remained quiet, Cuphead found he didn’t mind the kind of silence it gave for a reply. It felt more patient than rude, like the Domain wanted him to continue his train of thought. So, Cuphead did. He played with the knowledge that all Domains could body-jack their ‘children’ on a whim, at least, he figured based on his own experiences. It stood to reason, at least to him, that the Domains usually seemed to leave when they felt like their ‘children’ weren’t doing as they wanted. But, Cuphead wondered why they didn’t just force the gods to do as they used to.

He didn’t believe the Domains had the common courtesy to _not_ body-jack their ‘children’ for lesser offenses. Then he paused, mind jumping track to toy with the idea that the Domain’s were just as equally at blame. That got him wondering if the Domains too, learned anything the way the gods did. His Domain shrugged in response, unable to answer. Cuphead moved on, letting his train of thought drift to other things. He wondered just what Inkwell thought about all of the gods being bitter, only having snippets of equally bitter grumbling here or there when it deigned to prod at the gods within his Domain.

Out of all the gods he looked forward to meeting, it was the ones who supposedly fell due to their siblings failing. He wanted to see just how true that was, because thus far, he hadn’t seen a single innocent deity aside from the ones who took the chance his brother gave them. That was another thing he mulled over. Many of the gods had indeed wanted Mugman dead or suffering, but they’d also wanted to keep him like some odd trophy. As if it was a way to stick it to the other mortals by taking him. That, or they were desperate for the former worship they received before everything went rolling down the hill o’ crazy. He wondered if that was their greed or their loneliness talking, and almost wished he could ask them.

For Bon Bon, he was fairly certain she’d simply wanted someone _not crazy_ to talk to. He knew that because she’d been perfectly willing to listen to Mugman, where the others had mostly only wanted him to either shut up or cry. He _carefully_ avoiding thinking about Kahl, he wasn’t sure if he’d black out again, and wasn’t keen on doing that ever again if he could help it. With how hard he tried to pry his mind from any and all thoughts of Kahl, as well as the knowledge that his outfit no longer felt heavy with blood it was starting to become a habit of his to lose focus of his surroundings.

Right up until a sword buried itself in his shoulder.

Even the skeleton swinging the sword looked surprised. She let go of her weapon, alternating between reaching for the handle of her sword and the crack. Which meant that the freshly unstained clothing was now getting a different stain on it courtesy of the soul liquid pouring from his new wound.

“Okay, _first of all._ ” He started, yanking the sword out of his shoulder with extreme displeasure. She shrank back, weakly gesturing for him to go back the way he came. He, while maintaining “eye” contact, snapped the sword in two; dropping it at her feet.

‘ _Danger ahead. Goddess is wrathful.’_ His Domain translated for her. Cuphead let the healing kick in, gold light casting a cold shadow across his scowl.

“Listen lady, I’ve been _dealing_ with wrathful jerks _this entire time_. She isn’t gonna be any different. And if I’m gonna have a shot at getting my brother out of danger and maybe keep death away for a little longer, I gotta clear out the ocean.” He brushed some stray shards of porcelain from his clothes, moving past her with a stubborn stride. She followed, jaw clacking away until he stomped his foot, whipped around to face her, and got in her face.

“That goddess out there is what did this to you! Don’t think I can’t see that! Why would you be trying to stop the guy that’s gonna help you _and_ your patron god? I’m being nice by letting this whole stabby thing you’ve got going on go. But warning someone like me is pointless, especially when I need to be sure none of these jerks are going to hurt my brother when I get him back. Now look, I’ll think of some way to bust whatever weird curse you got on you. Granted, I’m not sure how considering—”

‘ _Did you think we only dealt in punishment? Judgement is neutral, child.’_

Cuphead paused mid-rant. The girl had tried puffing out her rib cage in an attempt to look firmer in her demand for him to stay away from the beach. He almost laughed. Except he did the exact same thing, and he was fairly certain his brother had the same look he was currently wearing. The one that said ‘I’m trying not to laugh at whatever you’re aiming at with that stance but I refuse to not make that fact blatant’. At least, if the finger bones clenching the mottled fabric of her shirt was anything to go by.

The sand below them began to turn dark with the water building up under it, the sky darkened considerably. There was no scale this time, so he assumed it was business as usual. Only, he didn’t see many faults beyond her bouts of piracy, something she’d suffered for thanks to Cala Maria. He knew she only ever meant well serving her patron god Brineybeard, but with no working vocal cords, and with none around to understand corpse, she had taken a more direct approach. She’d even taken up her sword against Forkington a few times. What really caught his eye—aside from the feather drifting towards her—was how she’d tried intimidating Rumor.

He almost choked on a laugh at her souls’ memory of Rumor cooing at her before rather viciously smacking her into the ocean a good distance. Enough for Brineybeard to have to come rescue her. He’d have to judge Rumor later, if only to hammer in that such a thing was entirely too uncalled for. He shuddered to think of her doing that to his brother.

The feather tapped against her tattered boot, turning a soft grey. Not without fault, but far from any of the gods. Certainly enough to avoid any more punishment. He figured her shambling around as a corpse was plenty punishment. Chains wrapped tight around what he guessed was her soul, binding it to her body unrelentingly appeared, glowing a dark green. He wondered just what his Domain was going to do to fix it, or rather, what he was going to do.

In response, his hand rose up of its own accord and a bright red scatter shot decimated the chains…and her body. As the world returned to normal, his jaw slowly descended while a choir in his head tried to debate how much horror to add into the ‘well, shit,’ aria soon to play. The shredded remains crumbled to dust right before his eyes, before he even had a chance to take everything in fully. Then her soul, unbound but unable to really do much else thanks to whatever the barrier did, popped up out of thin air. She looked far better, he’d almost say she had a healthy glow, except that was her soul emitting light, and he was fairly certain he’d just mowed down a patron gods disciple regardless of health status.

“Uh…” His mind tossed out, well aware that was the worst thing he could possibly say at the moment.

 She laughed at his face.

====-====-====-====

“An’ this here be me god, Captain Brineybeard and his lovely lass o’ the sea!” The pirate girl gestured to the ship behind her. Cuphead didn’t know _how_ a ship managed to look shocked, but it did. He weakly waved. He _swore_ it _squinted at him._

She laughed at both of their faces.

====-====-====-====

“Oh see, now I don’t feel bad for whatever I did to her, _you lost my brother!”_ Cuphead’s disbelieving shriek carried through the lighter fog quite easily, not that it needed to. Brineybeard, awkwardly scuffing one of his peg legs on the deck of his ship could hear him _just_ fine. The younger god paced back and forth, body jittering audibly with anxiety. He’d glance at the ocean, shudder even harder, and return to glaring at the embarrassed god.

After pulling him onto the ship to show her ‘savior’ off to her god, Cuphead had only managed to hear the god introduce himself before the soul read caught sight of the ship rolling over and dumping his astoundingly weak looking brother into the depths below. Brineybeard scratched at his beard, mulling over just how to soothe the others ruffled feathers. Cuphead’s Domain tried to soothe Cuphead by reminding him about how the god of fortune had told him exactly where his brother was and how not dead he also was. This only made Cuphead switch gears.

“I tell you what, you tell me about this Devil guy, and I’ll…I don’t know, not punch your liver into a paste?” In response, Brineybeard grew pale.

“Why would you—”

“Because that lady in the stupid die house said he was with the Devil and you aren’t due for any judgement, surprisingly.”

Indeed, this deity was rough, but fair. He’d made up for his life before being a god by ensuring no one else died the way he and his ship had. Guiding sailors safely when they found themselves lost, continuing to do so even when the mortals showed off their new navigational equipment. He’d even praised their ingenuity, urging them to show it to Kahl or Werner. The mortals eagerly called for him after, still finding solace in knowing he was around if their maps failed them. Even when Brineybeards brother began sliding into a horrible murder spree, they turned to Brineybeard. Considering how none of the deaths lingered on the man, it was safe to say they didn’t blame the scruffy god for their ships falling to the storms of Wally and the hands of Cala.

Cuphead would tell Brineybeard that after he got some, if any, information on the one holding his brother now. He felt like he’d been making decent time as is, and his brother would be proud of him if he showed up fully ready for whatever the guy had in his arsenal.

“That one be an oddity alright. Y’see lad, fer a while we all knew that beastie t’ be the sort ta lead ye astray fer his own amusement. Used to try an’ one up Djimmi by grantin’ what Djimmi either wouldn’t or couldn’t. Fer a while, mortals had enough wits about them t’ avoid that one. Then all o’ this started an’ we catch wind he turned a new leaf! Mortals be spreadin’ word he be far more reliable an’ kind than any o’ us!” Brineybeard paused, likely trying to figure out what to add that would be helpful.

“Now I never trusted it, beast be slicker than Davy Jones in an oil bath. He put a barrier o’ his own up after we all got stuck ‘ere. None of us can break it, and the only time we ever saw it go down was when tha’ turncoat o’ a god strolled his fancy ass onto Isle Three. Saw with me own eyes a horse dragging th’ man kickin’ an’ screamin’ t’ hell! If yer brother be there, ye best hope he got enough o’ his wits about him to best the beastie. Poor King Dice might no’ be enough o’ a distraction. Now I—"

There was a splash, and then there was a green woman with chunks of her abdomen missing glaring at Cuphead. Her fetid breath washed over the deck as she seethed wordlessly above him. She ignored Brineybeard entirely, batting the man off the ship when he’d reached for his sword.

“Your _pest_ of a brother _said I sounded like a dying whale.”_ She finally bit out, nails coated in filth digging into the ship’s deck.

Cuphead had never claimed to be tactful. He certainly never claimed to be the sort to think before he spoke. So, after taking in everything her soul was offering up, he belted out hysterical cackles so intense his sides cracked. She raised her hand, indignation pouring from her. To which a very peppy looking Grim dug his teeth into. Sure, a dragon appearing out of nowhere would surprise anyone, maybe even cause a moment of hesitation. Cuphead however, well aware Grim had finally settled, just continued to cackle.

“Gosh Cala, when you get mad you really do!” Grim cheerfully spoke with one of his free heads. She shrieked, voice rattling everything violently. Cuphead pressed his hands to his head, no longer laughing. Grim retaliated, heavy tail crashing against her neck, choking her scream off. A snake on her head lunged at the dragon, to which it got a nice burn in return for its efforts. She grabbed Grim with her free hand, diving back underwater in an effort to gain the upper hand. All while Cuphead wondered just how he was going to handle someone so massive. He’d thought Grim was huge, but Cala Maria made Grim look like a big house cat.

Not only that, but her Domain was water. The same thing that it seemed as if his own used. Granted, he wasn’t fully sure just _what_ that place of judgement was, but that simply made him _less_ sure. But there was no way this goddess would understand that sinking ships because—and he guessed here—she wasn’t pleased with the figurehead’s sailors had made in her image. He was guessing, because her soul practically reeked of vanity. Not only that, but, as the water below began to boil, Grim seemed to be antagonizing her more than anything. Which meant words were becoming less and less likely to work.

She shot back up, greenish skin blistered red. Grim dug his claws into Cala’s arms, shredding flesh until she was forced to let go. She threw him as hard as she could into Inkwell, not bothering to check if he got back up after smashing into a line of shops. Instead she turned her serpentine gaze onto Cuphead. Now, the immediate chain of events left him dazed and confused, and limp in the tight grip Brineybeard held him in until his head stopped ringing. Cala had evidently reached for him again, but Brineybeard, having gotten back onto his ship, had aimed the cannons and given them the all clear while pulling Cuphead away before her lightning fast swing even touched him.

He tried to figure out how someone with a shredded arm, nearly non-existent midsection, and boiled flesh could possibly keep fighting. He thought she’d have retreated by now. But there was nothing in her gaze other than wrath. Undiluted wrath. The water seemed to be healing her too, even the water his own Domain was calling upon as it tried opening up its world. Both Cuphead and his Domain could hear the exact same chiming coming from her, a sure sign she’d been judged earlier. So they _knew_ she was in dire need of some retribution.

Then she was breaking through the ship, grabbing him up and throwing him as he and Brineybeard fell and the ship let out a dying wail, and he wasn’t thinking about curing her anymore.

====-====-====-=====

“So…”

“You uh…”

The two mortals tried to figure out how to converse considering their current state. Porkrind in a scruffy hunter outfit, Mugman in a blue dress with a thick blue ribbon tied in a bow around his handle with a little bell that jingled any time he so much as twitched set under the bows knot. There really wasn’t any talking, nothing could be added. Sally bounced around the stage in a horrifying wolf costume, wheeling a mannequin wearing an old, moth eaten nightgown around with her as the stage slowly came to life.

“You two _better_ be studying your lines!” She sing-songed out, voice steely. The two went back to studying their scripts. How she managed to whip up costumes that fit them so quickly, they didn’t know, nor did they care to find out. Instead they simply sat at the edge of the stage. Mugman with his bag beside him and Porkrind with a bottle of moonshine by him.

Despite doing as ordered, Mugman couldn’t stop himself from glancing at the numerous places of rot on the one who’d refused to abandon him after Sally had recovered from the shock of a car blazing through her theater’s doors. He was fairly certain Porkrind could have escaped, would have known she’d only be distracted for a short time. And instead of leaving Mugman alone to his fate, he’d stayed. He mulled over how to go about bringing it up.

“Does…that hurt?” He finally asked, keeping his voice soft as Sally started shouting at a tree prop. Porkrind glanced at him, eyes moving between the smaller mortal and his own rotten arm. Then, as an answer, he shrugged, not feeling like lying to the boy, but unwilling to verbally answer.

“Long since gotten used to it.” He squinted at the script, trying to figure out how he would ‘majestically swing the axe to show how powerful he is’.

“Have you tried healing it at all? How does it even happen?”

“Only ones here what got healin’ _anything_ is the Baroness and the Queen Bee. Ain’t either of them any kind of nice to us. Here on Inkwell, ya can’t really die, not anymore, not unless you’re put down by a god all permanent like. ‘S why I closed shop. Whole lotta dying went on in the early months, Chalice just shoved the violently angry ones onto Phantom.” Porkrind paused to hack up a bit of esophagus, spitting it out off to the side. Neither mortal expected the stage to then flip the board upside down, so the flesh was no longer visible. They shuddered at the almost glare coming from the wood around them.

“Sorry,” Mugman hesitantly pat the stage, apologizing just in case the stage made things worse if insulted. Considering it didn’t then eat _him,_ he safely assumed he’d appeased it. “What about a potion? I’ve got honey and a healing potion from Elder Kettle.” He reached into his bag, eagerly digging around for two vials. “I don’t know which would actually work, but surely one of them should?” He held out his prize, almost muttering the last sentence as he contemplated which would better suit the occasion.

“I ain’t takin’ nothin from that arrogant chunk of scrap metal, not when he—”

“Honey it is!” Mugman cheerfully interrupted, taking the script from Porkrind, replacing it with the bottle. His far too earnest stare as he waited for Porkrind to down the honey had more of an effect on the shop keeper than he cared to admit. Porkrind would later blame it on the fact that this was the first decent conversation he’d had in a long while. Tearing the lid off with his teeth, losing a canine in the process, he downed it in one go. Almost immediately it kicked in, regrowing and reviving lost or dying flesh. Porkrind almost gagged as he felt his rotted insides grow back fully.

Mugman went back to reading his script out loud, far too chipper, though that might have been due to him not wanting to watch a bunch of gross muscle and flesh regrow. Sally dragged him off for a few minutes at some point during the healing process so she could finish dressing him up for his role, and then she was back to shouting things at the props.

Mugman didn’t comment on the healthy pink now filling perfectly healed cheeks. Porkrind didn’t comment on the lovely blue eyeshadow and pink lipstick the other now sported. The mutual understanding was clear, even with such a short amount of time being around one another.

Porkrind scratched at the now useless eyepatch, debating taking it off. He decided it would make him look tougher, ultimately leaving it on as he rumbled out his lines here or there. As Sally fell back into the storage area backstage, Porkrind slumped over a bit so he’d be closer to Mugman.

“Okay boy, Sally’s dangerous, don’t mess up a line, she only gives one chance at delivering lines exactly as she tells you to. Mess up, and it’s curtains for you. When she starts yapping about a particular way she wants something done, do it that way. Them skeletons out in the audience ain’t props.”

Mugman glanced out over the rows upon rows of chairs filled with corpses, shuddering at the impressive number and diversity. Nodding, he went over his lines far more seriously. Luckily for him, Sally seemed to have given the most lines to herself and the mannequin, but he still had enough that his memory had to work like never before. Here he sat, once believing that nothing was scarier than Elder Kettle’s surprise tests. He wished he could still think that.

“Okay my wonderful actors, normally I’d have peeled the flesh from your bones and made you into a drinking set or thrown you into a kiln until you exploded, but! I’m feeling awful _generous_ …So!” Sally draped her arm across Porkrind’s shoulders, unable to reach Mugman’s without looking silly. The two just stared at her. Clearing her throat, unsure of how to take the rather plain stares, she continued. “I’ve decided to leave your fate up to yourselves! This play, aptly named Little Blue Bell, because red riding hood is bland, old school, doesn’t quite fit, and was just there for alliteration, and we all know that.”

“I don’t know what that means.” Mugman quietly muttered. Sally squinted at him.

“I’ll get’cha a dictionary later kid. For now, you better be ready to put on the greatest act I ever saw!”

“Golly Ms. Stageplay, how could we _ever_ match up to your skill?” Mugman bat his mascara heavy lashes, resting his chin on his laced together fingers. He even raised his voice so it sounded like those girls he’d heard on the radio. Sally froze, Porkrind paled, losing that healthy pink glow. Then, she cheered, clapping her hands enthusiastically.

“You’re a natural!” She cried out, feet tapping the stage in unsuppressed excitement. Porkrind slumped in visible relief, shooting him a warning glare. He stood with the other mortal at her demand, choosing not to apologize because it wouldn’t really do much at that moment. She led them backstage, chattering almost too quickly for them to understand.

“There’s only one act, I’m sure you’ve almost mastered your lines, which you better have, because we have only fifteen minutes before things get started. Now in between the breaks is when you should study. Before we start, I’ll give you two a lesson. This story, sweet little tot gets sent off into the spooky woods because grandma is a stickler for holding onto land that’s frankly worthless due to location. _You_ ,” She grandly pointed to Mugman with a clawed finger.

“Are the sweet, innocent, darling of the village. Bat a lash and people fall over to coo at you. You wear naivete like a grand cape. Suspicion or any words of its kind are unknown to you because of it! Long story short, you head into the woods because the old biddie needs booze if she’s gonna forget she’s sick and go streaking through town again. Folks miss it really… You meet up with a wolf, me. And your mom skimmed over not talking to beasties like me because she’s a racist bat who thinks canines are all the harbingers of death. Incident from her childhood, she don’t talk about it. You don’t ask.”

Sally paused to adjust Porkrind’s outfit here and there, scowling at a few threads she deemed improperly placed.

“I try and lure you to the path that doesn’t have naked grandmas. Normally it would be to eat you, but let’s be honest here, you’re about as edible as Brineybeard’s cooking. So I’m really just a devious shit who likes luring little kids away with promises of candy. You, not being _that_ stupid, ignore it, but it’s hard, real difficult, the candy I got is your favorite or something. Anyway I get impatient, so I go eat gam gam. She’s into it, again, no one questions it. This guy learns about your journey, fears for the sweet little star and decides to talk with his axe instead of words.”

She pat Porkrind on the chest, knocking the wind out of the hefty shop keep. He kept an entirely straight face despite it all.

“Now here’s the important part. You’re cute, but you have poor vision. Got it from grandma, thank her for all of your issues really… you gotta act like that. Sure, you know grandma went from a five to a solid two out of ten on the hot scale but that’s about all you can understand. I decided to let you choose how you impress me, but you _gotta_ impress me if you don’t want me ending your sorry existence. Porky, remember! You’re a tough guy, you have no less than four women at a time throwing themselves at your biceps just to get a feel. There’s not much competition so that’s probably why. Embrace it, make me feel afraid for the wolf’s future health. Play off of the kids ad-lib. Got it?” She eyed them until they nodded, then nodded, and vanished into a side room. Mugman stared at his script again, wordlessly taking in the lines he was to read. Porkrind mourned for his poor shop, berating himself for not throwing it in reverse and legging it when they had the chance.

====-====-====-====

The stage was set, the actors in place. Sally wearing a rather flamboyant dress, Mugman standing by while she acted out crafting up a basket, and Porkrind wondering if the kid could read lips in case he forgot a line while standing off to the side behind the stage.

“Now, my dearest little darling~” Sally cooed, voice entirely different from earlier. Her actions themselves were more calm, deliberate. Mugman followed suit, doing his best to imitate those girls he’d seen during the only city excursion he and Cuphead had ever been allowed on. “I’ve an errand for you, it’s for your dear grandmother you see.” Sally continued, letting a piece cake drop into the frilly basket.

“Is grandmother okay?” Mugman asked, the perfect picture of demure worry. Sally smiled, reassuringly patting Mugman on the shoulder as she pulled out a bottle of what he guessed was wine.”

“Oh, no need to fret my dearest darling, she’s only feeling a bit ill. Nothing a healthy bottle of wine and some good cake won’t fix!” Sally passed the basket over. “Now my darling Little Blue Bell. Take that straight to your grandmother, walk nicely and quietly, don’t stray for anything. If you leave the path you might trip and lose the bottle and then grandmother will get nothing. Don’t go eyeing her house either, and certainly don’t forget to say good morning!”

With that, Sally ushered Mugman off stage so the scene could change. The cool smile she leveled on him suggested he was still good to go. As the props moved themselves into their places, he skimmed the script, pausing to be sure Porkrind was feeling better. He smoothed the skirt down, adjusting the cape around his shoulders that had to be sewn in place. His thoughts ran around how exactly he was going to get both himself and Porkrind out without breaking the naïve character. Only, his mind, which had been growing increasingly addled, muddy with exhaustion that was only growing stronger. He was drawing more blanks than he could ever remember.

====-====-====-====

Mugman merrily strolled on the stage, his steps light enough to put a bounce in his skirt, exactly as he’d seen girls in the city do. Sally, donned in a creepily realistic wolf costume, emerged from the darkened tree line to intercept him.

“Good morning Little Blue Bell.”

“Why thank you kindly, Wolf!” Mugman gave a tiny curtsey, keeping his voice sweet and high.

“Where ever are you going so early Little Blue Bell?” Sally prowled closer, letting one of her claws flick the bell on Mugman’s handle teasingly as she circled him. He smiled brightly, momentarily stunning Sally with the sheer level of cute poured into one motion.

“To my grandmothers!” Sally, regaining her composure, plucked at the basket, leaving scratches in the straw.

“What have you got in the basket?” Sally asked, cold gaze focused more on Mugman than the basket. Mugman excitedly pulled the cloth acting as a lid aside.

“A piece of cake and wine! Yesterday we baked so today, grandmother can have a good meal to regain her strength.” The sheer amount of sugar in Mugman’s voice was enough to rival a candy factory. He was fairly certain someone’s bones in the audience melted from the undiluted cute pouring from him. If there was one thing he was good at, it was being cute. He was most likely the sole reason he and Cuphead hadn’t gotten grounded or punished nearly as much as they could have been. Elder Kettle never stood a chance against the unstoppable adorable Mugman spent hours practicing simply because there was little else to do and it never failed to creep Cuphead out.

“Where does your grandmother live?” Sally continued. Mugman returned the cloth to its rightful place over the basket and pointed towards the forest backdrop to the far side of the stage.

“A good quarter of a league that way, her house is the one surrounded by the three oak trees. Surely you’ve seen it, wolf?” He tilted his head, letting the light hit his face at just the right angle to ensure maximum shine. Someone surrounded by angry gods and rotted bodies never stood a chance against the ensuing perfectly timed batting of lashes.

“Holy shit.” Muttered Porkrind from off stage. Sally, fighting admirably against the cute, doubled her efforts to appear darker, more threatening. Considering he’d faced scarier on Isle one alone, it was easy to pretend he wasn’t the least bit nervous. Some mutters from off stage spoke of worry for the poor sweet child.

Sally’s look grew hungry. Where narration was missing, expression took over. She poured even more fluidity into her prowling, stalking behind Mugman as the stage scenery moved, as if the two were walking. The bell let off a clear chime as Mugman walked, heels matching the chime with a light clicking.  The claws on Sally’s costume clicked a half step behind, deliberately, as Sally clearly contemplated just how she was going to get ‘Little Blue Bell’ off the path.

A patch of fake flowers caught under a bright white stage light drew the attention of all.

“Little Blue Bell, why do you not stop for these lovely flowers?” Sally called out, moving so she was blocking Mugman’s way. Mugman hesitated, looking between the path and the flowers.

“Well…” He bit his lower lip, indecision warring with the determination to listen to ‘dear mother’.

“But do you not hear the birds? How merry they are! And here are you, walking as if to your death! Why, sweet child, do you not instead go pick flowers? Surely your grandmother would feel even better with something to remember you by?” Sally pushed, something rained glitter down onto the flowers from above, adding a sparkling effect. It wasn’t even remotely as powerful as the sparkling shine that took over Mugman’s carefully crafted appearance. He brightened so much the lights had to be dimmed lest they blind the audience.

“Gosh, wolf. You certainly speak true; my dear grandmother would be glad to have flowers like these!” With that, he went toward the flowers, the trees closed around him, and soon he was hidden from view. He immediately tamped down the cute, retaining it for later use. Instead he tried not to get any glitter on his dress. A tree gave him a bundle of flowers as Sally monologued her plan.

The stage grew darker as she continued to describe how delicious it would be to crush the darling of the village. She _owned_ her part, cackling deeply at times, and giggling high-pitched with insanity at others. He shuddered, poking at the flowers with flashbacks to Cagney popping up in his mind. He wasn’t sure which was worse, someone who was insane and didn’t realize it, or someone that was off their rocker and made that title their throne.

He listened as Porkrind make his appearance. The deep rumbling voice was easy to make him believe Porkrind was strong, even if he couldn’t see what Porkrind was doing to what sounded like wood. He’d later find out Porkrind had just buried the axe with one heavy swing into the thick tree before ripping it apart with his bare hands. Porkrind would remark about how he’d learned things while trapped on a hostile isle with no customers and nothing better to do. Mugman would still ask for a demonstration. If he did it while in the presence of the nature gods—who turned a tad ill at the clear threat—well that was simply _coincidence_.

Still, based on the awed noises from the crowd, which Mugman was only now realizing shouldn’t be making a single noise, Porkrind was doing enough to please Sally. He was determined to ensure Porkrind survived. The last mortal to help him wound up either dead or put into a coma. Mugman wasn’t up for seeing another one fall. So he pushed himself to think about how to work the scene between him and the wolf.

He’d heard the tale before, he knew about how Red Riding Hood was devoured by the wolf along with the girl’s grandmother. Granted, there’d been another version of it stashed away by Elder Kettle the brothers had found. Bored with the usual stories they’d gone for it. Remembering the alternate ending jogged his mind, and the crafting began. He _may_ have let out a dark chuckle. But the only ones that had heard it couldn’t exactly nark to the audience, so he found himself lacking any care for the props around him.

====-====-====-====

Finally at the grandmothers house, Mugman dutifully gasped at the odd sight of the door being wide open. He voiced his confusion to the odd scene as he entered the home. That was all the script had truly demanded of him. After that, it was blank, giving him full freedom, and by the stars above did he mean to _use it._

“Good morning!” He called out, voice more pure than the bell sweetly jingling away. “Well gosh, I hope my dear grandmother didn’t go into another fit. Goodness, it’s awful terrible when she does. Grandmother?” He called out, as the bed slid into view and Sally, wearing an ill-fitting nightgown with a bunch of stuffing plumping her costumes belly up, remained quiet.

Mugman pulled out every stopper he had.

“Oh grandmother! I was awful worried! But here you are playing fantasy again! Gosh, I can’t tell if this is worse than the time you slathered fish oil all over yourself and tried to slide down main street.” He gently put a palm to his cheek, sighing. “Though…” He paused, sniffing loudly, a curious expression dawning on his dolled-up features.

Sally would rue the day she enhanced them with makeup.

“Why does it smell like where fish go to die grandmother?” He asked, lips forming a pout so perfect it had something swooning in the third row. Sally was speechless, trying to figure out how to answer such a question to keep up with the act.

“Also, why do you look like you’ve gained so much weight? Have you been bench pressing strangers in the alleyways again?” His hands descended to his hips, his stance scolding. Sally opened her mouth, reaching for something.

“I uh..”

“And what’s this? Your voice! It’s so rough!” Sally seized the chance.

“My illness, it—”

“Now don’t you worry! I must admit, and please don’t be upset dear grandmother.” He pressed his palms together, interlaced his fingers, and turned his pleading gaze up to maximum. “I overheard mother telling others you’d reached that age where you could no longer defend your title, you know the one. She said you couldn’t down four bottles of hard whiskey anymore and grandmother, why I just had to defend you! But if I return home without four empty bottles they’ll surely know you’re weak! Surely you don’t want to end up like old Moe? The town crier still presents Old Moe’s pelt every morning.” He gestured to the bottles the stage hurriedly rolled onto stage.

“Uh.”

“Quite right! They’d think I had poured them out, well don’t you worry grandmother, I passed by a hunter earlier. I’m certain he’d be plenty willing to observe! One moment dear grandmother.” He darted off stage as a table moved onto it. Then he was back, pulling Porkrind by the hand. To increase the adorable he made sure to keep the bounce in his step and look up to the taller shop keeper, enough that the lights illuminated rainbows in his carefully crafted gaze.

“Here she is! She’s a bit under the weather, but if you recall the maypole incident, you’ll know my dear grandmother is far stronger than any nasty sickness.” He grabbed the wine bottle, placing it lovingly on the table, leaving the cake in the basket off to the side. The stage helpfully rolled the whiskey over so he could pick it up and place the bottles next to the wine.

“Dear grandmother, are you ready? Here, let me leave it at your bedside!” He placed one of the bottles at the foot of the bed, out of her reach. “Good thing you had that fishing incident that extended the length of your arms dear grandmother!” He stepped back, so Sally, as dictated, gave him a withering glare, and began to chug. When she paused, he spoke up again.

“Dear grandmother, you must really be feeling ill! Why I recall when you’d go through a bottle in under a minute. Gosh, what would dear grandfather say if he knew you’d gotten so weak?” Sally glared, this time unaffected by the saccharine smile and urging tone. Even so, she went back to it, plotting how to use an empty one to smash the boy’s head into pieces. He must have seen the murder in her eyes, but instead of cowing to her unvoiced threat, he returned it with an even sweeter smile and another bottle tossed to her. Porkrind stood, struck silent by the scene before him.

“Little Blue Bell, why don’t you come closer? You’d see my success easier that way. We have poor vision after all.” Sally cooed, voice roughened by the hard liquor. Mugman’s eyes flashed a vivid gold.

“Now dear grandmother, that’s how grandfather went out! You always _did_ get protective of your stash. While I may not have good vision, this hunter certainly does.” He pat the thick forearm beside him proudly. Porkrind nodded, assuming the look of one focused on something life changing. So Sally continued, downing one bottle, and reaching for the next.

Halfway through the second bottle was about the moment Sally started feeling the effects. She choked on a mouthful, hacking. Porkrind just about took that chance to try and run, but Mugman lightly tapped his arm again, sweet expression still in place.

“Oh, this does remind me of the time mother and grandmother had a drink off. I’m not old enough yet, according to mother, but—oh no _no_ , don’t worry dear grandmother, let me toss you the next bottle.” Mugman cheerfully passed over the third bottle, deftly dodging the empty one thrown at him.

“But you haven’t seen the best part Mr. Hunter, after she goes through them, she always runs through town. She says its to show the younger folk just how tough they ought to be for the coming winter. It’s quite amazing!” Sally choked, booze spilling down her costumes front as she sputtered and tried to glare at him. He ignored it with gusto. “I think though, that the town requested we warn them the next time it happened! Dear grandmother, you finish these bottles here and by the time you do, your darling Little Blue Bell will have warned the town.”

Before Sally could get a word out, Mugman ushered Porkrind to the edge of the stage, glad to see the outline of his bag tucked away in Porkrind’s loose shirt. He waited for Porkrind to get off the stage and help him down, sending back one last powerfully chipper smile Sally’s way. Eyes burning a vivid gold, something in the way the lights seemed to darken around him had her pausing. With one last wave, he perched on Porkrind’s shoulder, the picture of cute, and merrily called out warnings about an incoming grandmother. He continued to do so even as they hit the entrance to the theater. Before they could cross the threshold, there was a blistering shriek and a bottle smashed into the two, cracking Mugman’s arm below the elbow and tearing a gouge into Porkrind’s ear.

Without pause, Porkrind broke into a sprint, running for all he was worth towards the bridge before Sally could call an end to the play. He stuffed Mugman’s bag, fuller now with the addition of his clothes Porkrind had given him earlier, into Mugman’s hands as he ran. Dropping Mugman down on the other side of the bridge, he made a gesture for Mugman to continue on while he went back across.

“That train will only come sniffing around if the both of us muck about in its territory. I’ll see about distracting Sally, you fix yourself up and get into that cave. There’s a barrier that ought to keep you safer than staying out here.” Before Mugman could argue the fact that Porkrind would just as easily be safer, the shop keep was sprinting back down. The fog curled through the air after the man, the only sign he’d been there at all. Mugman waited at the other side, desperately listening for any signs of Sally coming after Porkrind.

The only thing that reached him was the growing noise of something unnatural. The tunnels with tracks leading through them rattled.

A powerful whistle, sounding more like thousands of enraged wails than anything else rang out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly i'm thinking I overshot the estimated amount of chapters this thing would take. Which means two things! Either I can cut down that number like i did for my other stories, OR, I can use the spare chapters to write little continuations or snippets. It honestly depends on what's in demand. So for now, I'll leave that number.   
> Aside from that, Cuphead! the new and improved frisbee! Throw him over water for super screaming action!  
> Good old Porkrind... originally he was supposed to be a violent juggernaut who'd go above and beyond to crush any intruders to his shop. But that just didn't happen because my muse is a weird wench who can't settle until it's set in stone. So here we are.  
> I should never be allowed to write fairy tales.  
> I want you lot to know there was a deleted scene in the theater where Mugman tripped, his leg shattered, and Porkrind just "I told you to figuratively break a leg, not actually break one!" To which Mugman would respond with "Well, at least i haven't been disarmed" and promptly wiggle all ten fingers while trying to fix his leg.


	18. Phantom Panic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AND HERE IT IS FOLKS, THE LONGEST FREAKING CHAPTER I'VE EVER WRITTEN. IF Y'ALL THOUGHT THE LADY'S RUMOR CHAPTER WAS LONG, YOU AIN'T SEEN NOTHING! 20 PAGES? HA! TRY 30 FUCKING PAGES. OVER 18000 WORDS.

A long time ago, Cuphead had been the first to dive fully into the ocean. He’d been so eager to one up his sibling, he hadn’t thought beyond proving how tough he was by not hesitating. The regret hit harder than the pain did, and faster. Salt water, his young mind had decided, was worse than soap water. Soap water, while not his favorite, was still leagues better than the astoundingly gross taste now in his mouth and in his eyes. But what got him even more, was how _silent_ everything had suddenly become.  He’d taken baths before, but the tub was far too small to fully submerge himself in, so he’d only ever spent seconds underwater before having to go back up unless he wanted the tile floor to become flooded.

Sure, he could hear Elder Kettles muted voice, he could clearly see the parts of his brother that were underwater, but it was such a shift. He’d almost felt like everyone wasn’t actually there with him, even when the rational part of his little mind had wildly gestured to said sibling as proof. He’d sprung up, loudly complaining about the water as it poured down his body. Mugman had given him that ‘I’m about to laugh at you’ look, and, already disgruntled, he’d retaliated before Mugman could indeed laugh.

His brother, the little cup had figured, would spring back up much as he had. Then the two would get into a splashing fight, except this time there’d be no tile floor to get soaked. Which meant Elder wouldn’t care if they had a water war. He’d been able to see flashes of his brother through the waves, but, Mugman hadn’t popped up. He’d stayed down long past the time Cuphead had. He remembered crying for Elder Kettle, little body rattling as fear for his brother mounted. Cuphead had thought he’d killed his brother, or the water had decided it was going to keep the other simply because he was blue as well.

Cuphead, the child he was, hadn’t been sure just how to get his brother back, too afraid to go back into the water himself, but unwilling to just give the ocean his sibling. Elder Kettle had readily fished the other out, and had explained to them the dangers of staying under too long. That had only cemented Cuphead’s fear of going any deeper than shoulder height. Any time his brother had dipped his head under, he’d made his twin hold his hand while doing so, to be sure the water wouldn’t steal Mugman away when Cuphead wasn’t looking.

He himself refused to go anywhere further out in the ocean without being on a boat with Elder Kettle nearby, sure their guardian would be able to fend off any thieving attempts. But now, there was no Elder Kettle, no Mugman holding his hand to assure him he was still in the same world as his brother.

When he hit the water hard enough to leave fractures all down his back, he wasn’t thinking of healing himself. He wasn’t thinking about what kind of revenge he was going to get on Cala Maria. He wasn’t thinking at all. He was just _screaming_. Fear drowned everything else out, crushing rationality mercilessly under its heel. His clothing only weighed him down, dragging him under faster than if he’d just been in his shirt and shorts. He’d curled up, rattling heavily as panic ripped apart his composure. The water pressed down on him, muting everything above it, even the rattling he vaguely knew he should have been hearing.

He stared at the surface, thick tears pouring out with his powerful sobs. He desperately reached for the light spilling down on him, as if begging it to solidify so he could pull himself to safety. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard a deep voice, but he couldn’t understand it, couldn’t understand anything other than the fact that the light wasn’t doing as he pleaded, and he was still sinking.

Unable to truly think beyond the near constant stream of terrified screams and pleas for _anything_ _to get him out of the water please just get him out get me out don’t let me disappear please_ , Cuphead sank further and further into the depths. Right up until mocking laughter cut through the silence clear as day. Harsh shivers rattling his body, making the cracks on his back take all the longer to heal, he at first thought it was in his head.

“How are you this pathetic?” A voice, the goddess, the one who’d thrown him. She slowly appeared, bright circles of light flaring up on her skin, casting terrifying shadows as the currents curled around them. Cuphead stared back at her, not fully realizing what he was seeing. She sneered, reaching one hand out to catch him, letting his body come to rest on her palm.

“You’re Domain has a toe in mine! I mean really! How could you _possibly_ be afraid?” She teased, cold amusement distorting her already cruel features. Cuphead just whimpered, barely able to do more than curl up more tightly on her hand. She laughed, and began tossing him up, catching him with her other hand. He tried to flail after the third throw, tried to get away from her, but his limbs refused to cooperate, leaving him to awkwardly float in space until she snatched one leg and dragged him closer.

“Come now little guppy, it’s just a bigger bath tub is all!” She cooed, lightly petting his cheek with one of her fingers. “Why, don’t you want to see all the toys left on the bottom for you to play with?” He opened his mouth, rattling growing heavier as she started to descend, pulling him down faster than he could sink.

“So many things! Goodness, I couldn’t tell you the amount of shiny things I’ve found stashed away.” Cala laughed loftily, visibly taking delight in how terrified her captive was. Her Domain laughed as well, but Cala wasn’t sure why. Since her Domain was one of the most cryptic, she’d long since given up trying to decode the hidden meanings in its mannerisms. Instead, she continued to take vindictive glee in tormenting the brother of the one who’d compared her to a whale. She could still see the red tinted tears pour from his eyes, leaving what looked like—to an observer like herself—blood drifting up towards the surface.

Already she could feel water healing her grievous injuries, bolstering her confidence. She was in her element, and nothing aside from Goopy or Brineybeard could ever hope to so much as scratch her. So she pulled the tiny god down faster, wondering if the porcelain down below would scare him as much as the water was.

Then a brilliant golden eye, slit like a cat’s, blinked out of the darkness behind him, overpowering her natural luminescent glow. It locked gazes with her, blinking a few more times, then, _it curled_ , as if the owner was smiling. She stopped, floating in the darkness, staring back at it. The eye alone was easily the size of her arm. One more blink, and it was gone. She felt her heart hammer heavily in her chest, her body growing cold all of a sudden.

Taking a peek at the boy, she realized he hadn’t noticed, too busy keeping his eyes shut as tightly as possible. He’d pressed his hands to his mouth, little body curled as best as he could manage with one leg being trapped in her grip. Briefly she wondered if that had simply been an illusion. When it didn’t show up a second time, her nerves faded slowly.

She was in her element. Nothing was larger than her. Not a single deity matched her in size. No deity she knew even came close. Ultimately deciding it had been something that had broken free from the wreckage meters below, she continued to float down. She wanted to toss the boy at the barrier where she knew his brother was stowed away, retaliate for his insult. But first, she wanted to see just how badly she could terrify him.

She didn’t bother to wonder why her Domain went from laughing to full on cackling.

She caught sight of his mouth moving behind his hands, and leaned in to better listen, wondering if he was saying anything interesting. Instead, all she heard were pleas for “Mugman, Elder Kettle, someone please, please get me back to the surface, please, I don’t want—” Which, while amusing to her, wasn’t truly interesting, she’d heard that sort of begging countless times before.

“Boy, why don’t you open your eyes? Take a look around? Look at this stuff! Isn’t it neat?” She cooed, lips pulled up in a sadistic mockery of a coy smile. She reached down, eager to pick up a treasure from the floor to show him. Whether it was a body or a piece of a ship or even the gold, she didn’t care. When her hand brushed across thick fur, somehow not even remotely damp, she yanked her hand back up, squeezing her other hand on reflex.

She stared at the broken off leg in her hand as the rest of the boy writhed in shock.

Cold scales brushed across her back, a guttural hiss drowning out the audible weeping he’d started back up. She twisted, desperate to figure out what deep water creature decided to toy with the goddess of water. She found nothing though, save for a lone feather slowly drifting down. Robotically, she lifted her other hand, letting the feather rest against her cold skin. The moment it turned an oily black, she let out a startled gasp, wildly shaking her hand to dislodge the feather.

It was the boys fault, she decided, it had to have been. He was a god, that much was evident based on the golden light rapidly healing the shattered limb still clutched in her palm. Though she didn’t know what his domain was beyond the barely-there coo from her Domain, as if it was greeting an old friend, it was safe to assume nothing beyond it having water. She hefted the child up, angrily tapping her nail against his chest.

“Don’t you know how rude it is to ignore a lady? Here I am trying to show you the wonders of my Domain, and you’re not even paying attention! Why, you’re not even bothering to introduce yourself? I _know_ you know who _I_ am.” He didn’t seem to hear her, or perhaps he was too lost in his terror to respond. Cala wasn’t sure what she would do if it was the latter, beside try and exacerbate things. If it was the former, well, she’d just have to show him what happened to rude children who forgot their manners.

“Boy, your brother was here, don’t you know? He fell off the ship, my Domain told me. Tell me boy, what would you do if I told you he was still down here?” The child barely managed to pry one golden eye open before he slammed it shut. Whispers of ‘He’s not here, he’s not, I know he’s not, I want him here, Mugman, Mugman, _brother, please_ —” replaced his previous begging.

**_‘Liar.’_ **

_‘Heavy.’_

Words without a body to have come from hissed maliciously into her ears. She reared back, desperately trying to see around her. Though her eyes were capable of seeing into even the darkest depths, it took time to adjust, and that golden thing had all but reset her night vision, leaving her mostly blind.

====-====-====-====

Tucked away in a casino, relatively safe from the outside hostilities of Inkwell, a little body suddenly shot forward as bone rattling coughs wracked his frame. Thick black soul liquid dripped into already stained white gloves. Those around him frantically tried to find something to do to ease the fierce coughing fit. A few hell hounds perked up, staring at the child with unnatural interest. As a sharp crack pierced the air, as an arm flopped uselessly, lifelessly down to the child’s side, two gods watched on.

The arm crumbled into dust, much to the dismay of an imp carrying a pot of glue.

====-====-====-====

Everything was muted around Cuphead. The only thing he could hear clearly, was Cala’s voice. All the rest eaten up by the pressing, crushing force around him. He tried to regain his senses, tried to dig himself out of the pit he’d found himself in. But any time rationality would whisper ‘you’re a god, you won’t die, you won’t end up the way Elder Kettle described.’ Another voice would remind him of all the nightmares he’d had of said way. Of fragile porcelain bodies littering the ocean floor, staring lifelessly up to the surface. He’d see images of his brother slipping under the waves, only, there was no Elder Kettle to haul him back up. Instead, his only constant family was carried away by the cold, uncaring tides.

Cuphead was left begging, pleading, desperately whispering for Cala to just let him go. He started to babble apologies, crying heavily into the hands pressed tightly to his mouth. He wanted _out_. He wanted to be back home, back safe and sound, far from the waves. Far from the dark waters currently drowning out his world. He wanted to be back, sitting by the fireplace, as Mugman tried to take up knitting for the third time. He wanted his brother to call out for him, to meekly hold up tangled together hands with a non-verbal request for Cuphead to help him out. He wanted to hear his brother hiss insults at the books for being ‘useless, wastes of paper better used for kindling’.

Instead, he heard _nothing._

No, not nothing, buried deep under his crushing fear, he heard humming. Soothing humming first done by Elder Kettle, then by Mugman. The same humming their guardian told them would protect them from any baddies in the night, any critters under their beds or in their closets coming to drink their soul liquid. It was faint, barely there, but growing stronger the more he focused on it. He sobbed once more, only this time, in relief, in _desperate_ relief. Keeping his eyes closed, he could almost imagine laying in bed, after a bath, listening as Mugman hummed, trying to emulate Elder Kettle’s ability to smoothly carry the notes into each other. He could almost picture the burst of giggles that would soon follow as the idea of a bunch of critters frantically scampered into the darkness, fleeing from the song’s power filled their minds. Wanting to keep ahold of that image, terrified of losing it, he let it pull him from the reality around him.

====-====-====-====

The water by Cala Maria’s shoulders was displaced, deep hissing once again breaking through the silence behind her. She lashed out with a hand, fed up of whatever was playing tricks with her. She decided whatever creature that was toying with her, she was going to stick on a mast and roast over an ocean vent.

‘ _Poor, unfortunate soul.’_ Cala twisted, dropping the child in her hand so she had both, ready to tear apart whatever lurked in her domain.

A lone eye, the one from before, stared at her. This time, something below it caught the light of her own luminescence.

Before she could make sense of the teeth, one set crocodilian, the other hippopotamus in nature, the thing was gone once more. Only this time, she was sure it wasn’t fully gone. No, she could feel the water swirl behind it as it circled her. Guttural hissing grew into a deep growl. Her heart jackhammered away in her throat, her limbs felt cold, far colder than natural, fear crawled down her spine slowly, mockingly.

Then, something sharp slammed into the more delicate part of her tail, pinning her to the floor. She thrashed, but only wound up tearing her fins apart.

The growling became laughter.

She pounded a fist into a nearby rock formation, shattering it. Rage warred with fear, battling to control her reactions. She furiously tried to regain her vision, blinking rapidly in an attempt to cast the vivid gold after-image out. Between one blink and the next, her eyes caught a flash of thick fur then a flash of deep green scales, then nothing.

Then, a maw cracked wide open, easily four times her size, the jaw split down the middle allowing its bite to increase in size. She shrieked, nails digging into the remains of ships and bodies below as she desperately threw herself back away from the rapidly approaching mouth.

She blinked, and it was gone.

The laughter grew into cackling.

Then, nothing.

Not a single sound anywhere around her, not even the previous sobs from the boy. Cold anxiety numbing her body, she searched the floor for the child. Some part of her figuring he’d be her shield if nothing else. Only, there wasn’t a single flash of gold or red to be found.

There was nothing.

The floor once below her was gone. Her fin burned sharply as agony ripped through the shredded wound. She ignored it, using her tail to feel for where the ground should have been below her.

There was nothing.

Cala Maria called out for her Domain, demanding it explain. She was certain, if the boy’s Domain had a bit of water in it, then she would have been able to outmatch it in her element. There was only one Goddess of Water, and thus far, not even Goopy could best her when the two fought in the deep depths of the ocean. What she didn’t expect was to feel a soft wash of frigid water to brush across her tail. As she moved to look down, she caught the gleam of bone, of teeth, then, those teeth vanished, inches from her tail.

She cried out, pulling herself up, deciding the best chance she had was evening the odds. Turning to look at the surface, her mind fizzled out, going blank.

There was nothing.

 _‘Oh? What is this?’_ Something once more brushed against her delicate fins, leaving thin scratches in the dense scales just above the fragile membrane.

‘ _A toy?’_

Cala’s hair writhed, serpents darting around, searching for the thing, frantic for even a glimpse of whatever lurked in the darkness crushing in around her.

‘ _No.’_

She upped her glow, letting a ghastly green light push back against the void. She only caught the flash of a skull’s muzzle. The crocodilian half seemed distorted, twisted up into a vindictive _grin._

Then, there was nothing.

‘ ** _Retribution.’_**

Teeth sharper than her nails, more jagged than Cagney’s teeth, bigger than Grim’s tail alone, drove deep into her midsection. She opened her mouth, blood spilled out, drifting up into the nothingness above her.

Then, **_there was something._**

Two, gleaming gold eyes, floating in the abyss, catching flashes of white bone. Blood drenched teeth enclosing around her was the last thing she saw.

====-====-====-====

The humming gradually grew more and more quiet, leaving Cuphead with little choice but to open his eyes. At first, he was afraid he’d just see Cala Maria’s cold green glow. But instead, he was graced with the sight of the cloudy sky, marred only by a thin wall of water. He shot up, limbs weak with frenzied desperation. All it took was a wave to push him further onto shore, and he was _free._ He shot out of the water, tripping on his drenched clothing and waterlogged boots.

The moment he deemed himself far enough away, he collapsed onto the sand, listening to the world around him match the sound of the waves with ease. He could hear buzzing from Rumor’s vicinity, angry shouts from Werner’s side, buildings creaking whether from time or movement. To his front, he could hear Brineybeard’s loud cursing, and the sounds of something being hammered, something wooden. He remained where he had haphazardly fallen, letting salt water pour out of his mouth, mixing with the tears spilling down his cheeks.

====-====-====-===

After throwing the dress and ribbon off the side of the cliff, Mugman ignored the make-up still painted on his face in favor of taking a few sips of a potion. He’d gotten dressed as quickly as he could, not willing to be caught wearing the thing, especially with a broken arm. A part of him wondered if keeping the dress on would make the last thing between him and his goal any easier, but ultimately figured it would hinder more. Thus, the shirt and shorts were slapped on.

From where he sat behind a thick bush, he could hear the whistles getting louder, the shrieks get angrier, and the track rattle harder. He downed half the bottle in one go, figuring he didn’t have to be too sparing with the supplies anymore. He’d been stuck sitting there for five minutes, trying to decide just when to try and cross the tracks without becoming a scattering of powder on the front engine.

When the train got no closer to appearing despite sounding seconds from showing up, he finally decided to just go for it. He got across the clearing, had even managed to clear the tracks when his body convulsed. He collapsed to the ground, feeling like his entire body was about to splinter apart as heavy coughing tore through his chest. So intense was the fit, he didn’t even realize he had an audience until transparent hands plucked him straight off the ground and onto the screaming beast blazing through the clearing. He had a single glimpse of the cave—his goal—before the train plowed back into the darkness of the second tunnel.

====-====-====-====

Mugman had never been on a train before. He’d always wanted to get on one, adoring how spiffy they seemed whenever he managed to catch a glimpse of one on the tracks closest to their house. He could now safely say that while the rocking sensation, and the smooth glide of the wheels along the track was nice, the wails for revenge, or demands to be let off, he could do without. He could also do without the ghost prodding at his body with a pale finger.

He grabbed it on its next poke on his arm, and calmly moved it away from his body, arching a single brow in answer to the confused frown.

“You’re new…fresh… How are you?” The ghost held up a hand, allowing Mugman to see an eye embedded in the palm. Observing him by moving the hand close enough to make Mugman lean away lest he get poked again.

“If you’re asking how I am, I’m not dead. If you’re asking how I got here, I’d say dumb luck. I am indeed new, and I’m hoping you’d be so kind as to tell me what’s going on.” Mugman kept his tone polite, still weak from the last fit. That one was far worse than the others before it, which made him worry because he’d _just_ taken down a potion which should have been healing him. Though, the more he thought about it, the more he felt a new sensation creeping down his soul liquid. The potion that used to ease his aches felt like it was sluggishly crawling through his body, gouging into the porcelain instead of speedily fixing everything.

“This? Phantom Express… We… The dead? Not so… Do you want to leave? Don’t…” Once again the ghost pulled his face in far too close to Mugman’s for comfort. Mugman, unable to do anything other than press his handle back into the fabric of the plush seat he’d woken up on, waited for him to continue. “Hott…not so hot. So many… Are you angry? Sad?”

The train let out a wailing shriek of a whistle, and the ghost tilted their head to listen.

“How… I’ve got to… Engine…” Broken the statement was, Mugman couldn’t do anything to stop the ghost from leaving via sinking through the floorboards. He waited for a few minutes, nervous to be left alone on an unfamiliar train. His soul liquid sluggishly pulsed, mind pulling as many memories as he could of the Phantom Express as it could.

He didn’t remember much, mostly because there wasn’t much he was taught or told. The brothers simply knew that, though Phantom was one of the first to fall, it hadn’t been by the train’s own actions. It had been Chalice’s fault for failing her job, leading to her siblings collapse into corruption. That fact didn’t comfort the child currently surrounded by what remained of the deity. Despite being in the caboose, something he knew because the door next to him showed a black void rather than the next train car, he could still hear the train itself. The enraged whistles were layered under so many voices he couldn’t begin to pick out what was the train’s and what was the dead.

When the unhinged ghost didn’t return, he stood on shaky legs, deciding the only way he was going to get off the train was by trying to appease it long enough for it to slow down and allow him to hop off. He was the only one in the car, which had an odd feeling of safety around it despite the state of everything ahead. Peeking out the back window once more, he debated stepping out onto the balcony, but when the train made a sharp turn, sending him stumbling onto the seat he’d just vacated, he axed that idea harshly.

He waited a bit longer, enough for his limbs to realize he needed them to actually work if they were going to survive. Enough to soak in the soothing sounds of the wheels running across the tracks, even if the track was a bit wild at the moment. He tried to imagine being dead, being a ghost on the Express back in its heyday. Back when it heralded a peaceful passing for loved ones, a sure sign the spirit was off to the afterlife. He took in the plush velvet seats, all colored a soft lavender. The ornate carvings decorating the walls and seat backs. The brushed gold adding splashes of finesse to the deep red mahogany wood. He envisioned the sun shining into the windows, lighting up the car, giving the dead another view of the world they were leaving.

He could see why people worshiped the train so highly. The thick carpeting felt rich beneath his stained boots, and he almost felt embarrassed being so scruffy in such an upscale setting. Then another enraged wail cut through the vision of what once was, and he returned to reality. Which helpfully reminded him that the train was no longer a safe haven of peace. Shaking off his nerves, he got back to his feet and started down the line of seats, gripping the thick padding tightly to keep from falling over when the train rocked harder or leaned too sharply.

When he got to the door, the safe feeling grew weaker. He turned to look back down the line of seats, back where he’d woken up after being dragged onto the express. Something called to him, implored he return and stay safe, that it would ensure he’d remain in one piece as long as he stayed. Mugman was undeterred however, the need to see his mission through far outweighing his need to sit back down. With an apologetic smile, he opened the door, and moved into the next train car before another sharp turn could end his journey, painfully.

====-====-====-====

The next car was less empty, far less so.

There was a _thing_ pacing up and down the aisle, leaving a thick trail of black tar in its wake. Its bulbous arms would pulse and drip more slime every time they brushed against worn seats. Though there were a few other ghosts sitting in the seats not clawed apart, those ones staunchly looked out into the void beyond the windows. The porcelain child spotted a few birds, a lone teapot, and a wolf. Confused as to what would make those ones different from the thing pacing with a squelching shamble. Unsure as to how to approach the thing blocking his path forward, he sat in a chair across from the pigeon, the beast wordlessly shambled past. He could pick up low mutterings from an impressively toothy maw carved deep into a mound of bulging flesh where a face would have been.

He didn’t look long, not willing to incur any possible reaction staring might bring. Testing the waters, he coughed into his hand, wondering if it reacted to sound. Almost immediately, the pigeon twisted her neck sharply to stare right at him. He stared ahead, eyes locked on the claw marks marring the smooth wood. He hadn’t meant to get her attention, but evidently he hadn’t factored the other souls into his test. As he was realizing he was staring at a torn off nail embedded in one of the bloodier claw marks, the seat shifted. His soul pulsed with nervous tension.

“Dear me…” The woman cooed, voice low and soft. “Its been quite a while since something pretty showed up on this hellish ride.” She brushed a feathered hand along his, as if marveling at the difference between her fingers and his. He spared a moment to rally his wits, mourn the answering ‘hell no, you started it, you finish it, here’s a shovel, genius,’ and glance at her chin, figuring that was the safest place to look.

“Thank you miss, I just wish it was under better circumstances.” He went for the same method he’d used for Sally’s play, acting as cute and harmless and polite as possible. When he wasn’t immediately shoved into the path of the thing, he took it as a sign he was on the right track. Taking a cue from her, he also kept his voice low, there had to be a reason she was whispering after all.

“Of course! Don’t we all, but no! We get this shoddy excuse for a ride. Why, when I left dear Harold, I was looking forward to sitting in the lap of luxury for the first time! But no! instead I’m here! One of the few who has the nerve to refuse to join the thing mucking up the floor! Right temper that one has. Tell me child, do you know what has become of the fair Phantom Express? It doesn’t make stops anymore, and I just want to get off. If you’re here, it must mean something has changed!”

What that told Mugman, was that his brother wasn’t on the Express, not that he entertained that idea for very long in the first place. Taking solace in her quaint manner of speaking, he continued to let her run her hand along his arm, believing she was doing it to soothe him.

“Not quite, I’m not exactly dead…ah…” Her hand tightened around his arm to the point he felt it start to crack, so he hastily continued. “Rather, I’m mostly dead, which, while not all dead, is still mostly dead, and enough to get the Express’s resident pick up crew to ah… pick me up?” He felt her grip grow loose the more he continued to talk and only _just_ held back the shaky sigh of relief.

“Oh? Just where did it pick you up?”

“Inkwell, miss. I was on an errand and things took a bit of a side step so here I am.” The thing shambled past once more, giving out a hiss so irate it made Mugman instinctively press himself into the wall, away from it. The bird let out a breathy chuckle, patting his leg reassuringly, though, it didn’t exactly do its job.

“Inkwell? So we’re on Inkwell but it isn’t stopping? How odd! Here I was thinking it was trying to break a record! Dear child, tell me, what was that errand?”

“Oh, well, you see—“ He cut himself off as a rancid breath filled his nose. The air grew moist, and Mugman was instantly aware of the thing that had once been pacing now leaning over the seat, over him. Flashbacks to the last dead thing to do so made him forget his rational side, the side telling him sudden movements were a bad idea. The pigeon was swiftly back at her seat, loudly complaining about the state of things.

**“Ink…well… Boy…** _how could you bury me like this._ **What** _I just wanted her_ **child** _I’lldevouryou_ **”**

Mugman had never heard so many voices at once. It was as if hundreds of souls had condensed down into one hulking, pale green, rotten behemoth. Mugman lurched forward, intent on climbing over chairs, forgoing any thought of gathering information or hints for how he would proceed. It lashed one slime covered pale blue, tongue-like thing out, yanking him back so it could press itself to the seat and curl around until the gaping maw was directly before Mugman’s face.

**“Move…on…** _but I don’t want to, you won’t make me_ **Boy…** _not now laura._ **Explai…** _you’ll stay withme **forever** thistime_ **”**

Undulating teeth gnashed viciously inches from his nose. Letting out a weak, high-pitched noise, he used the tear in the seat he was on to pull himself away from it. The tongue had loosened and he used the second he had open to rip it off of his body, shuddering as the smell of burning flesh joined with the fetid one already emanating from the thing. He slammed into the seat opposite his, ignoring the startled cry the pigeon let out. Breaking into a sprint, he caught the flicker of what looked like fire behind him. Not wanting to lose any chance he had of escape, he pressed on.

Behind him, the creature writhed in the bright gold flames searing through it, ripping apart the spirits within with brutal efficiency. The rest in the car watched in horror as it collapsed, breaking into white ash.

====-====-====-====

The next car was more of a hallway at first, a far tighter squeeze than the earlier two cars. There were seats up ahead, but those were arm chairs, not bench seats. He took a moment to stop shaking, looking out the window for a chance to see anything other than a black void. He wasn’t lucky, and all that stared back was his own reflection. For a moment, he thought his eyes looked more golden than blue, but that was only a moment. In the next, he looked exactly as he always had, albeit more exhausted than he’d ever seen before. The makeup on his face was also a touch different. If he wasn’t so tense, he’d have taken a moment to admire just how makeup changed his features or enhanced them. He wondered if it would be useful as it had in the play.

Except he didn’t have that time, not if he wanted off the Express in a timely manner. He was a bit disheartened that he’d learned nothing from the first car, but the one he stood in held some promise. It was in far better condition than the last one, but not quite as good as the caboose had been. From where he stood, the patterned carpet looked worn in some places but otherwise pristine. The wall paneling too, smooth and clean, save for a scratch here or there.

Mugman carefully eased forward, not sure how to take the sudden calm atmosphere. Moving past the first room, likely a private suit or storage, he wasn’t sure. He edged into the main room, peeking around the corner as stealthily as he could. There was no one in the car, as far as he could tell. Though he didn’t bother opening up the rooms he’d passed, the rest of the car was empty. Mugman took in the expensive painting hanging over the deep gold couch, wondering if the nature scene was picked for a reason. Deciding that he simply didn’t care enough to know, he pressed on, more than glad he wouldn’t have a repeat of the last car.

Hopeful for what awaited him, he went to open the door, when a voice, scratchy and worn whispered behind his shoulder.

“I wouldn’t go that way if I were you.”

Mugman spun around, soul liquid racing through his body, hand pressed to his chest to keep the bag in place. It was a train worker going by how they were attached to the train via a thin cord. Red, with a hooked nose and nervous eyes.

“It only gets worse up there, but I have no doubt if you wait it’ll get better eventually!” Though the man spoke with a hopeful voice, it sounded weak, as if he was close to giving up on that hope.

“Pardon me, but, I don’t think I can wait another century for something that might not happen. Thank you for warning me though!” Mugman reached for the door again, but the man was back in his face.

“What?!” He pressed forward, forcing Mugman to step back, “A _century?_ Say it isn’t so! There’s no way Phantom has been ailing that long!” Mugman winced when the man’s volume grew too loud.

“You’ve been, or the Phantom Express I suppose, and the other gods, have been on Inkwell Isle for over a century. I’m sorry if that’s not the news you wanted to hear.” The man slumped down, face flumping over into the plush carpet. He mumbled something into the fibers, but Mugman wasn’t close enough to understand it. When the man made no movements after a minute, Mugman tried for the door _again._

“Wait a second…” Then, he was being tangled up in the cord attaching the man to Phantom Express as the man circled him, eyeing him with a critical frown.

“Hey… yeah you ain’t pushin up daisies! Close though… and… if we’ve been on Inkwell for a century, just how did you…or _why_ did you end up here? We clearly didn’t pick you up like the others.”

“Oh, the ghost with eyes in his palms sort of dragged me on? I’m not too cer—did you say close? Is it because I’m here?! It’s because I’m here isn’t it.” Mugman let his head drop into his hands, mumbling into his palms.

“Well no, but in the interest of _not_ adding another angry soul, kid or no, let’s move from that topic. I’m one of the blaze brothers! A brakeman on this fine, fine vessel. Don’t tell Hott I said that, or do! I don’t think he’ll mind.”

“Um… I—”

“Hey now, don’t go telling me your name! Don’t you _ever_ say your name on this train. Far as you know, a name is what you call yourself and nothing more, and that’s it. But like I said, whatever business you got up there, ignore it. Forget it like you should forget your name. It’s ugly up there, why, I haven’t been able to see my brother in _months.”_

“A brakeman? Does that mean you can stop the train?” Mugman filed the name thing away for later.

“No! You see how fast Hott is going? If my brother and I tried stopping Hott right now, we’d end up tearing the wheels apart and you’d wind up a fine powder in whatever car you had the misfortune of being in. This train can’t stop until it’s at a slower speed.” The brakeman winced at the despondent slump now weighing down the child’s shoulders, and, fearful another vengeful spirit was being born, he tried to dredge up some of the hope he’d been holding onto out of spite more than anything by that point.

“Oh but, hey! Who’s to say Hott or T-bone wouldn’t suddenly take a stand and cool it long enough for us to work? Specter sure hasn’t been feeding the furnace for a while now, so maybe its finally going to start slowing down?”

“I’m not willing to hold my breath for that, but maybe I could do something to help? All I know about this train is after Chalice, and forgive me for not giving her a title but I’m not willing to be nice to her… Ah…” A blue blush stole across Mugman’s face at the amused eyebrow arch now decorating the brother’s face. “The train stopped acting as it used to and went rampaging through towns instead.”

“That’s it? Gosh, I was certain people woulda gotten the hint! Hott’s possessed. We were never meant to take on angry ghosts or those ‘but it’s not my time’ or ‘I can’t be!’ folks. Hott’s a bit of a pacifist you see, always just wanted to drop off the dead where they could rest for the rest of their afterlives. We had to rely on Chalice to knock the sense into them types.” The brother paused to unwind himself from Mugman, leaning his face up towards the ceiling in thought.

“Man, when we started getting those shouty jackasses, we thought Chalice was just getting a bit bogged down with work. So, we took em on figuring we could soothe ‘em. Then Hott got possessed, and now we’re here. So kid, if Hott and us can’t fix the dead, just what do you think you can do?”

“Well, nothing.” The brother seemed taken aback by the rather plain response. Mugman shrugged his shoulders, and continued. “I’m not a brakeman, this is the first time I’ve ever been on a train, but… I _refuse_ to let this be the place I get stuck on. I’ve spent my entire life next to Cuphead, and by the stars above I’m not willing to let that change like this. So if I gotta go in there and rough up a few rowdy ghosts, then by golly I will.” Mugman rolled up his sleeves to emphasize his dedication. “I might not make much of a dent, but sitting here, acting like some damsel wearing wrinkles in her skirt, waiting for prince charming to save her? That sounds _worse than nothing._ ” With that, he opened the door, and pushed on.

The blaze brother stared after him, looking at his reflection in the stained glass with an unreadable countenance.

====-====-====-====

The brakeman hadn’t been lying when he said things were worse up further. Mugman choked on the mildew filled air that assaulted his nose the moment he stepped into the dining car. Never in his life had Mugman stopped breathing for so long so often. He was even more dismayed to spot numerous spirits. Granted, a majority of them were staring brokenly at plates piled high with mold, but that didn’t ease his anxiety. He was well aware that just because they weren’t noticing him at that moment, didn’t mean a thing when he got closer.

He tried to ignore the cloud of mildew and rot visibly hanging in the air as he began the trek further in. His goal was the front of the train. He figured if he could find a way to settle the spirits making Hott go at the violent pace he was currently tearing around at, he’d have a shot of getting off the train in one piece. The carpet squelched with his every step, releasing more spores into the air despite his best attempts to tread lightly. The walls were coated in splotchy patches of mold that had long since eaten away at the paint and wall paper. He got the distinct feeling that if Baroness had been in that car, she’d have fallen into a dead faint. He passed the kitchen section without any incidents.

Though he heard movement within the tiny section of the dining car, nothing came out of it. He glanced at a nearby puddle of rot, and shuddered to imagine how bad the kitchen was if the rest of the car was so grotesque. He watched as a cricket picked up a piece of what had likely been fruit but was now black, fuzzy, and dripping brown liquid.

Had he had the ability, he would have thrown up in his mouth when the woman nibbled at one corner, staring blankly at the plate. Almost inhaling but stopping at just the last second, he managed to keep the powerful shudder of disgust low in terms of volume. As he brushed past a mottled green and yellow table with three passengers chowing down on plates that never seemed to lose the impressive pile of rot and mold stacked high on the porcelain surfaces, someone looked up from their plate and locked eyes with him.

The entire car paused, even the sounds from the wheels below seemed to vanish in that moment. One by one, a few returned to their listless stares at plates stained beyond saving. Their gazes still snapped up to peek at him, a feverish sort of interest glazing over their eyes. He thought, they almost appeared…lonely. But, as he took in the numerous passengers, he couldn’t begin to understand why they simply weren’t chatting with one another.

A hand darted out, nabbing his wrist and tugging him down into a seat that spewed out a dense cloud of mold. He followed the hand up to the eager face of a lightbulb, light flickering weakly in an otherwise dim frame. The debate to open his mouth was one he wasn’t ashamed to admit took him longer than many of his other internal debates on Inkwell. On one hand, he wanted to question the man. On the other, the air terrified him.

The lightbulb eased a bowl of what looked like corpse soup if the chunks of green meat floating in a greyish brown liquid were anything to go by closer to him. Mugman closed his eyes, internal debate growing to a fever pitch.

“So long…” He twitched, grip tightening on the corner of the table he’d grabbed in a panic when he’d been pulled down. “It’s lonely here. No family anymore.” The lightbulb had an oddly echoey voice, and his light would follow the vibrations he caused when he spoke. Mugman raised a single brow, settling on keeping his mouth closed until absolutely necessary. He took a second to remember how his soul liquid was out in the open, and would likely be purging the drifting clouds of mold and mildew exactly as it did with everything else.

The lightbulb took the pinched expression that dawned on the small child’s face to mean he pitied the man. The lightbulb perked up even more. A few others in the car enviously sneered at the man, far too weak or unused to moving to have done the same. He preened for a few quiet seconds and then continued.

“You lost family too I’m sure? How long ago? You know I—” The man rambled on as Mugman began bargaining with his innards. Trying to reason with his soul liquid, that he could just dump out his head, faint for a few hours, and be good, and it wouldn’t have to purge via mouth. His soul, or something in it, _chuckled_. He moved to stand up, weakly motioning that he was going to the exit ahead of them, but the lightbulb wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him in closer, almost pulling the blue mug into his lap.

Before Mugman could drive his elbow into the man’s body, courtesy be damned, the kitchen door slammed open. The entire car went silent, people instantly shrinking down in their seats, as if willing the rotted cushions to devour them. Mugman froze as well, pausing in his movement to reach for the corpse soup to dump on the lightbulb’s face.

A lone hand, with astoundingly long black fingers tipped with thick, cracked nails, curled around the door frame. Then another joined it, spidering out to the windowsill across the way, burrowing into the wood like a hot knife through butter. Mugman, body trapped against the Lightbulbs, could only move his shoulders and head around, fingers digging into the table cloth.

Spindly arms followed the hands, leather-like yellow flesh wrapped tightly around far too long bones. A head appeared next, and the moment it turned in Mugman’s direction, Mugman felt his soul turn to ice. There was no face. Instead it was a black hole surrounded by torn, reddish yellow flesh that twisted in a circular motion around the void. A lone dot of red light floated in the abyss. The body began to crawl out of the kitchen, following the hands, aided by the nails piercing through the metal floor. It was tall, far taller than natural, with a stick thin chest and a bloated abdomen. It continued to look his way as legs bent and distorted to fit through the tiny doorway.

Mugman, ever grand at taking in context clues, and heavily reminded of the thing in the other car with no face, realized he didn’t have many options. Based on the way the people were hastily devouring the pieces of rotten food, ignoring the thing _still_ emerging from the depths of the little compartment attached to the dining car, he was certain the creature was _not nice._

_‘MOVE.’_

He didn’t need a disembodied voice to tell him twice. As it reached a lone hand out towards him, void features bending on a bone structure not big enough to properly emote on, Mugman grabbed the table and _pulled._ He broke free from the lightbulbs weak grasp, scampering across the table and flinging up the cloth when the claws tried to follow. Tearing another cloth off from a nearby table, he threw the disgusting fabric at the creature, hoping to cover its face to give him a few precious seconds to escape. It was caught by the other hand, the lone red dot flickering out. He nearly slipped on a plate that had fallen from the table as he tried to sprint for the exit.

The plate, in an odd coincidence, slid along the floor, and up, following the motion of Mugman’s boot, nailing the creature perfectly in the rail thin throat. It was just enough to force the creature to pause. Mugman ripped open the door and slammed it shut right as claws burrowed through the metal barrier. He shrieked, and it was only because the train hit another bend that he avoided being gored by the nails. He narrowly caught himself on the other doors handle, yanked it open, and dove into the next car as the nails receded from the door.

Mugman curled into a tight ball, pressing deeply into a seat back as a lone hand brushed almost lovingly across the glass on the door. It left deep marks in the glass, but didn’t go through, and eventually vanished.

====-====-====-====-====

The next car had a tiled carpet, and much like the dining car it had a healthy amount of dead in it. All were in heated debates, trading trinkets left and right faster than he could begin to keep track of. He sat on the floor by the door, content to rest a moment out of sight of the others. At least, out of their attention. The soothing rocking motions helped melt the ice his soul liquid had gained. He picked at a loose thread, wondering just how his brother was doing where ever he was.

For a moment, he imagined his brother chewing out Elder Kettle, ranting viciously about just how badly their caretaker had failed. He smiled at the thought, then his soul reminded him that it had unwanted mold and mildew in it, and he spent the next ten minutes trying to quietly spit out the second worst thing he’d ever tasted in his life. He almost felt guilty for leaving a mess on the floor, but the floor itself was worn and dull, a far cry from the caboose’s carpet. Really, he was just adding a reason to either power wash the fabric, or toss it out entirely.

Finally, after the last slimy wave of mold slid out of his mouth, he sat up, wiped his mouth and chin with one of the shirts he’d stuffed into the bag at his side, and went about planning how to get out of the car unharmed. The people, in varying states of decay or just ghosts entirely, were heavily embroiled in rapid fire chatter. They were constantly moving, almost undulating with the motion of the train. Left and right, from a wolf to a spoon to a sparrow to a beet, never chatting with a person for long.

The almost teen watched it all in his little corner, trying to find a rhythm to jump on so he could use the flow of the crowd to evade said crowd. When five minutes passed with little to show for his attempts, he sucked in a clean breath, envisioned his brother hopping foot to foot, eager to plow straight through simply to see what would happen, and did just that.

He shifted with the bodies, moving smoothly, letting his feet carry him behind one person one second, then behind another the next. He’d made fair progress as well, even though he’d had to climb over the remains of an arm chair a few times when the main path was too full. So _of course,_ something had to go sideways. He accidentally brushed a fish woman’s lapel. She snapped her hand out, wet fins gripping his upper arm tightly. The entire car finally took note of the newcomer, and everyone, at the same time, turned to face him. He would have stamped his foot with frustration if he was younger. He could see the exit _not ten feet away._

“Excu—”

“What ya got?” She snapped, interrupting him. He paused, mouth slightly agape. She patiently waited for his answer, loosening her grip only enough for him to feel less like he was about to lose the limb.

“What?”

“What. Do you. Have? We bargain here. Y’see, if we do it enough, if we find the right item, we’ll get the rights t’ get off this express t’ hell ‘r heaven.” She answered, calm as could be despite the grip once again tightening on his arm. Another person, a true porcelain doll, prodded at his bag with a disinterested frown. Her thick, curly hair bounced when she leaned away, evidently deciding he wasn’t interesting enough. She seemed to be the only one who thought so, and when she realized people were still focused on the newcomer, she huffed and sat down.

Of course, her movement had to mean a clear path to the door ahead. Mugman _barely_ held back from grimacing at her. If only because he was sure she would have been more than glad to see him to it if it meant returning to whatever she’d been doing beforehand.

“I’m not…sure? Has anyone found the ticket off the Express yet?” He asked, not so subtly pulling on his arm. The woman ignored it.

“Nope. For a moment, Larry over there thought my fishing rod was the way, but that’s why we call him headless Larry now. It’s also why there ain’t no fishing rod here either.”

“I said I’m sorry!”

“Yes well, just be glad you’ve got a pretty enough brooch.”

“You traded that to Paul.”

In the moments she had lost her focus on him, Mugman managed to slip his arm free and take a few shuffling steps towards the door.

“You don’t _smell_ dead.” A gruff voice, belonging to a wolf, breathed hot, rancid air across Mugman’s face. If there was a record for ‘the most disdainful expression in the world’, Mugman would have won ten times over. His eyelids slid halfway down, his lips pulled into a light frown, and blue eyes bored into the wolfs golden ones.

“I just got out of the Dining car, and I can promise you, smelling me is a surefire way to test the theory that mold can grow in a body.” He drawled, keeping his hands tightly wrapped around the bag strap, belying his confident stance. The wolf went visibly pale under patchy fur and leaned away.

“Not dead? How can he _not be dead?_ ” The doll bit out, gesturing sharply to the entire car.

“There’s no other way on this damn thing!” She curled her fist under her chin, glaring balefully at him.

“I was invited on by Blind Specter, I’ve got nothing really to trade, so if you—“He squeaked, having to throw himself back to avoid the suddenly eager plate and spoon pressing into his personal space.

“Specter? You’ve been to the other cars? You have! Indeed child, you _do_ have something!” The plate, shiny copper reminding him of Elder Kettle, excitedly clamped two powerful hands on his shoulders. He must have visibly winced, because the plate loosened her hold in the next moment.

“Child, there ain’t no going further in this car without bargaining. Just try to take it from our side! Years of this!” The spoon, much like the doll, threw her arm out to motion to the rest of the car. “We shouldn’t even be here in the first place! Innocent worshippers we were, struck down and shoved aboard this metal beast without a single chance to talk our way out of it! Not a chance! So surely you want to help right?” She clasped her hands to her chest, leaning down so her smooth silver reflected Mugman’s face. He winced.

Pressed between two metal beings and one cold fish woman, he was trapped.

“I will gladly tell you whatever you want to know to the best of my knowledge if you just let me—”

“That’s not how we work boy. We _bargain._ You give us something, and we see about giving something in return, that’s how it goes here.”

“I want to get to the next car, that’s the bargain. I’ll answer a question for each step I take to the door.” He pointedly eyed the ten-foot distance, happy to receive reluctant nods in return.

“Where are we?” One asked from the other side of the silent car.

“Inkwell Isles.” Mugman took a step, not too big, not to small, just enough to force the women blocking his way to move unless they wanted him to bump into their hips.

“How long have we been here?”

“I don’t know exactly, but all the gods have been bound to Inkwell for over a century thanks to Elder Kettle granting knowledge of a barrier.” Another step, equal in size, leaving him that much closer to freedom. He stared at the door, his goal, in resolute determination.

“A century? A whole century and Chalice has done nothing? Hasn’t cooled her head?!”

“She’s more bitter than the corpse soup in the dining car.” Another step, a cat stared at him from his seated position on one of the only surviving chairs.

“Great… The other gods too?”

“The Baroness is very sweet, and Rumor saved me from Kahl.” Mugman didn’t realize his pun until a few of the passengers snickered into their palms loud enough for him to hear.

“How goes the world outside Inkwell?”

“It’s going just fine.” Just five more steps and he’d be at the door and in the clear.

“And you? Why are you here?”

“I’m on an errand.” He ignored the amused huff from the cat.

“Is the Devil still granting deals? I bet if we just kept trying enough he’d finally help us the way he was before we got here.”

“I don’t know, I haven’t met him.”

“Where is Elder Kettle? He put us here, surely he’s not doing well under the wrath of the other gods?”

“He’s not here, he’s on the mainland. It was part of the deal that he not be locked up with the rest of the gods, Only the god of fortune avoided the same fate. Everyone else is here.”

“The god of fortune? The same one that laughed when I lost the bet that put me here? That wench isn’t rotting here?”

“He is now, he returned to the Isles.” One more step. People seemed to be debating just what to ask, whispering to one another. The whispers grew more heated as the car fought to choose who would ask the last question. Then, hushed, dripping with an unknown slick breath a voice asked it, two hands coiled deceptively gently on his shoulders.

“What is your _name?_ ”

The car went deathly silent, spirits of all types zeroing in on the heated body slowly wrapping arms around Mugman’s upper chest. The few that could see his face reared back suddenly, turning frightfully pale. He turned his head just enough for the rest to see blazing gold eyes cut right into their very souls.

“My name is what I call myself.” He pulled the door open, shrugged off the loose grip, and stepped out into the blackness between cars.

====-====-====-====

The next car gave him a _very_ bad feeling.

He opened the door a crack, and immediately the air filled with enraged wails so intensely loud it overpowered the roar of the wheels and the engine ahead. Mugman slammed the door shut, immediately cutting the sound back off. Staring at the door, jaw hanging loose, his mind worked to recalculate itself. His teeth made a clacking noise when he snapped his jaw shut, daze fading quickly. He couldn’t linger much longer on the little block between the two cars, but going back to the last one wasn’t an option.

He’d sooner throw himself off the train than go back to the dining car.

Steeling himself, bracing for impact, he opened the door again. The screams washed over him and now that he was more prepared, he could even detect short phrases here and there.

“ _How could you?!”_

_“I don’t deserve this!”_

**“I’m going to kill her! That—”**

“ _Get me off this fu—”_

_“Don’t you even try insulting my boss you son of a bitch.”_

Mugman eased in. The car was another lounge car, much like the one where he’d met the other worker. Unlike the other one though, this one hadn’t fared the years well. It was as if a monsoon had been shoved into the car and told to go wild. The carpet was non-existent, shredded to the point he couldn’t even pick it apart from the bits of upholstery from the seats. The seats were bent, warped, shattered, and torn clear from their bolted spots on the floor to be flung around.

The walls were heavy with gouge marks, blood splatter, and other fluids he couldn’t even fathom the origin of. But the worst part had to be how many bodies filled the car. The doorway was the only clear portion. Every other inch of the car was stacked high with dead. Mugman took a moment to peek at the ladder leading up to the roof. The train swung heavy, leaning into a hard bank to the left as if answering his internal thoughts. He winced, keeping ahold of the door handle. When he spotted a flash of something spindly, he panicked and threw caution to the wind. He didn’t know if the thing was actually the creature from the dining car, but he wasn’t willing to wait and find out.

The moment he closed the door, he resigned himself to the next obstacle between him and the engine. Taking a breath, he toed the line between him and the sea of rage before him. A knife screeched across the metal floor a hairs breadth from his shoe. A lone eyebrow rose, part of him being reminded of Cuphead’s flashfire temper.

He remembered all the moments something set his sibling off enough for him to snap at Mugman. Mugman particularly loved reminiscing the day Cuphead had thrown the entire mattress at his brother. Though he didn’t remember what he’d done to anger his sibling, he recalled how doleful and embarrassed Cuphead had been afterwards. Mugman hadn’t really held it against Cuphead, telling his brother in red that he’d been more impressed at the distance the mattress cleared rather than upset or angry. He wondered if the same tactics would work with the wrath-whirlpool before him. Seeing nothing better to do, he crossed his arms across his chest. He adjusted his stance into the one he’d seen a mother take when her daughter had pitched a fit in the street.

It only took a minute for the crowd closest to him to take note of the astounding amount of disappointment, disdain, and judgment rolling off the tiny frame at the entrance. When someone snarled at him, eyes cloudy with anger, his frown deepened and his eyebrow arched up higher. The snarl died down, the man mumbled something bitter under his breath, and the path began to clear. What was once a rage fest was slowly becoming a sea of people angrily muttering into their palms, those that could at least, or just hissing at him. He tapped his index finger on his arm, stepping into the more calm portion with a confidence he didn’t really feel.

When a bone slammed down at his feet, missing his boot much the same as the knife had, he sighed.

“Was that even necessary? You’ve already turned the carpet to dust, this is just a tantrum.” He remarked, pushing as much of his ‘I’m disappointed in you, unimpressed in what you’re doing, and if you don’t stop I swear I’ll find a way to make you regret your continued existence,’ voice has he could. The skeleton before him seethed, bones turning a bright red, radiating heat. Somehow, that didn’t scare him, it instead reminded him far too much of how Cuphead too would puff up his chest when Mugman scolded him.

“Necessary? Tantrum? Who are you to tell me, **_the damn engineer! What I can and can’t do on my train?!_** ” The skeleton bit out, jaw bone creaking under the pressure he used grinding his teeth together.

“I’m a passenger, that’s what. I thought Phantom Express took pride in being the top of the line so the dead could have a fancy send off. Thus far? I’m not impressed. I’d think the engineer of all people would be working to keep the train in tip top shape, am I wrong?” Mugman’s tone must have been what did it, because the skeleton sucked in unneeded breaths, bones losing their enraged glow. The crowd around them remained bitter however, and he had no delusions that he wasn’t going to stay in one piece for much longer.

“Of course! Why do you think I’m so angry? Look at what these bastards have done to my train! Poor Hott! You don’t hear those wails of his?” Some ghosts hissed at the insult, others bit out snappy curses at the engineer.

“I hear a train wondering why his crew isn’t banding together to help him out instead of throwing tantrums in a parlor car.” Mugman readjusted his weight, hearing the angry muttering grow louder behind him. The skeleton however, started to look more indignant than angry.

“Tantrums? And just what do you expect us to do? Chalice was supposed to do her damn job but here we are!” The engineer swung an arm out, nailing a rabbit who’d been leaning closer to Mugman with murder in his eyes. Mugman jabbed a finger against the engineer’s sternum, brows furrowed down in a different sort of indignation.

“What do I _expect_? I expect you to not sit around whining about one goddess not doing her job! I expect you to have seen that she wasn’t going to help her brother, so you would have to do what she couldn’t! I _expect_ you to have gotten your heads together to figure out how to do your jobs instead of claiming it’s hers alone!” With each jab of his finger, the engineer stumbled back, allowing Mugman to storm forward with all the fierceness of a twelve-year-old who remembered how effective the mothers he’d seen had been at scolding when the fathers brute promises of belts didn’t work.

“Instead I find a train howling down the track, over a century in and not a single one of you has even bothered to try! And don’t try telling me you have, if you’re strong enough to put a bone through steel then you’re plenty strong enough to knock a few heads clear of any ill intent!” They were almost to the other end of the car, which was good considering Mugman was running out of things to say and the crowd was getting more and more enraged the longer he scolded the man. He was certain that they were only feeding off their own anger at being dead more than anger to defend the engineer. He would willingly bet that the crowd around him would have been more than happy to tear into the engineer had the man been any weaker.

“A… A century?” The engineer weakly croaked out, shoulders losing the tense line they’d been holding the entire time. Before Mugman could answer, a shark swung a fist at a seal, screaming about how he was already suffering, and didn’t need the seal stomping on his foot to make it worse. The engineer yanked Mugman forward, out of range of the explosive result of the thrown punch. Mugman winced as his back hit the door, trying to figure out how he was going to get out of the new situation. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the engineer had moved him just so he could punch the kid first. Only… The skeleton wasn’t doing anything of the sort. Instead he was staring at Mugman, jaw working, grinding against the upper teeth, but making no real noise.

When a splatter of what he supposed was ghost blood hit the wall right beside Mugman’s face, Mugman took the chance to yank open the door and escape to freedom.

====-====-====-====

Mugman clung to the other door to the next car, at war with wanting to continue forward, and screaming into the void. He couldn’t hear what was happening in the car full of angry souls, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to, not after his stunt. Once a minute or so had gone by, once the rattling had gone down, he sucked in a deep breath and pushed on, sliding open the door carefully. The moment he stepped in, a wall of anguish crashed down on him. Staggering under the sheer amount of grief, he stumbled in enough to close the door. The other cars had been a bit emotional, one feeling isolated, another feeling nothing but blistering rage and so on, but none of them matched the wall of angst slamming into him like a tidal wave.

He couldn’t begin to fathom who was feeing so much agony. To make matters worse, the car before him was a sleeper car, meaning that though he could see down the aisle, he couldn’t quite see the occupants of the car. He pulled in another quiet breath, taking into account the quiet weeping from somewhere ahead of him. Inching forward, he felt only a little bad for hoping the person sobbing was too deep in their sorrow to spot a lone child.

“ _I didn’t mean to, I didn’t. Please forgive me, please.”_

As soon as he heard the words he froze mid-step, shoulders hiked up to his head, hands clenching the bag tightly. The rambling continued, drifting in and out of his hearing, mixing with the sobbing. That meant there was more than one person ahead. If Mugman was being honest with himself, he’d readily admit he wasn’t surprised that that was the case. He would have said he’d have been more surprised had it _not_ been. Even so, he moved as cautiously as he could, trying to keep the rattling to a minimum. If he was lucky, he’d be able to avoid the thing ahead.

The car certainly didn’t look as if it held anything worse than the dining car or the parlor car. The carpet was soft, if a little damp in places. The seats and beds were all made with the softest looking fabric he’d ever seen. It was dusty though, everything had a thick layer of dust coating it to the point where he had to use the edges not coated to figure out what color everything was. He almost expected to see a dust bunny the size of his head go rolling across the aisle. When nothing of the sort happened as he tried to rub a clean spot into a suede seat, he flushed a soft blue with embarrassment for even thinking that sort of thing would happen. The weeping was growing louder as he made his way further in, broken lamps being the only other sign that something wasn’t quite right in the car beyond the dust.

_“I just wanted… please forgive me, please. How could I have known? It wasn’t supposed to end up like this.”_

Mugman shuddered, whoever was up ahead didn’t sound like a person he wanted to be near if the pleas for forgiveness were anything to go by. The car was dim, with very few light sources and no working overhead lights, he was forced to rely on the scant flashes of light from the car ahead and the car behind. To a degree, it made Mugman feel better to be in the dark. He figured if he couldn’t see that well, the creature who was sobbing away likely couldn’t either. Even if their eyes had adjusted, he hoped their tears would distort their vision enough to blur his figure.

Making it halfway down the car with not a single person spotted, Mugman began to wonder if the weeping was just a figment of his imagination. With all the agony weighing the air down however, it was hard to think there wasn’t a source. Although, Mugman questioned just who could be feeling so much distress. He couldn’t remember a time other than when he’d cried over the remains of his sibling when he’d felt even half the sorrow currently saturating the car. He’d been deep in anguish to be sure, but it felt like thousands upon thousands of people were mourning and begging forgiveness rather than just one or two.

Once he made it close to the other door with still no one spotted, his worry only increased. He _knew_ there was something amiss with the lack of people. The last car to be so empty had been the one with the hopeful train worker. But even that car hadn’t felt so crushingly grief-stricken.  It had been lighter, softer, and certainly brighter and less dusty than the one he was currently in. Hesitantly peeking behind one of the walls, he eyed the last two beds and chairs in the car.

Nothing.

He felt a creeping sensation roll down his back. A part of him, the part that held hope that the train wasn’t just an endless gauntlet of misery, told him to not look a gift horse in the mouth and get out while whatever was crying was busy doing just that. The bigger part, and the part that had been guiding him more and more as he trekked across the Isles, told him to keep it slow. He took a step, easing his weight down carefully, as if walking on glass.

_“Please **forgive me**_ **.”**

Spindly fingers attached to bloated hands crawled over his chest, snagging the bag and wrapping around his upper body with a heavy squelch. Black ichor poured down his sides where the hands squeezed against him. He flailed, digging his heels into the floor _hard_ in an effort to break the grip around him. The hold loosened only enough for him to trip, slamming into the door with enough force to leave his body shaking. Turning, because the handle was in the wrong place for him to grab, he came face to void with the thing that had tried crushing him.

Much like the other two he’d seen before, this one had no face. It did have the countless, needle thin teeth linking the void, delving deep into the pit that had devoured its features. The body was a mess of bloated, greenish arms, blackened, rail thin torso, swollen abdomen, and a mess of legs jutting out from below the abdomen. It wobbled, the hands reaching for him dolefully, the head tilting in a confused manner. He tried to throw his shoulder, using his body to open the door. The creature let out a wail so intense he wound up locked in place. His hands flew to his head, fearing that he’d break just from how powerful the cry it let off was. Distracted that he was, he didn’t even feel the thing press its yellow claws to his chest.

Thick brownish liquid gushed from the hole in its face, drenching the carpet, running down its thick neck. He stood at the exit, door ajar enough to let him through, but unable to move as the wailing grew more and more intense. Then, the claws slid cleanly into his chest, piercing through without so much as pushing him back with the pressure.

Mugman wasn’t someone made of flesh. He didn’t have to fear someone ripping a heart that didn’t exist out of his chest. Or cutting apart lungs he didn’t have. So for a second, he wasn’t all that worried. Afraid that it would do more, yes, but not worried. He’d had worse done to him simply by his own actions. But then the liquid pouring down its face ran down the outstretched limb, and seeped into the wound.

The tears came without warning, he hadn’t even begun to feel in any way like crying before heavy drops began rolling down his cheeks. Legs shakily carrying him back, his mind began to go blank with endless amounts of sorrow tearing through every thought that came to him. The claws remained burrowed within his chest, the other hand came up to caress his check, curling down, reaching for his soul liquid.

Something else from behind burned smacked it away. Thin cords wrapped around his shoulders and _pulled_. He slid back, claws leaving his body as the creature brokenly cried for him to come back and listen. The door ahead opened up by an unseen force, and his numb body was promptly shoved in. With the angle and position, Mugman should have seen the thing that had helped him, He would have too, if he hadn’t been so surrounded by an unfathomable amount of utter guilt filled _agony._

As his soul liquid purged the intruding muck, adding to the tears dripping down with no signs of stopping, Mugman fought to regain control. Slowly, rebelliously, he reached an unfeeling arm up to pull himself to a standing position leaning against the wall. He’d stay there for a number of minutes until whatever it had done to him wore off, burned away by the growing indignation searing cold through his soul.

====-====-====-====

After scrubbing his face clean with the shirt, and replacing it with the last clean shirt he had, leaving the remaining potions to clink around in the bottom of the nearly empty bag, he felt ready to press on. Burning, ice cold outrage coiled around his soul tightly at the audacity the thing in the last car had. Mugman glanced at his reflection across the way, taking comfort in the fact that this car was a business car, and thus had a small divot in the wall, hiding him from sight.  

All the fury vanished the moment he caught sight of golden eyes staring back. He sucked in a breath, shock stomping everything else down viciously before he blinked, and the gold was back to blue. The shock acted as a balm, clearing his mind, resetting everything so efficiently he almost collapsed back to the floor again. His knees locked, his hands dug into the bag strap, and he watched his reflection for any other signs of change. When all he got was his face, looking exhausted beyond belief and scared stiff, he closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe. He couldn’t afford to stop now, not when the train was having an odd effect on him. Not when he was so close.

If those other souls were to be understood, the fact that they were still on the train meant that they’d never been dropped off. They’d been on board since the fallout hit Inkwell, likely even longer for some. That meant if he died on board, there was absolutely no chance he’d _ever_ see his brother again. So, Mugman leaned against the wall, and began to clear his mind, compartmentalize everything that needed to be locked away for later prodding. He _refused_ to die on a train full of people who, even a century later, couldn’t cool off enough to force the other spirits possessing Hott to knock it off.

Hott was his end goal, if he could get to Hott, he’d have a chance of finding a way to cut the fuel supply or even talk the spirits into releasing the engine. He needed the train to slow down, that was for sure. He had no doubt that at least the brakeman he’d met would take note of the slower speed and hit the brakes as he said he would. But that required doing something he didn’t even know how to. Then again, he sort of _really_ wanted to do what Chalice had been supposed to do and knock the sense into those on board.

She was supposed to soothe the spirits unwilling to pass on before they even got a mile’s distance from Phantom Express. The fact that she’d been one of the first, if not _the_ first to fall, meant Phantom Express had been forced, as the brakeman said, to try and do her job as well as his. He wondered if it was the same for Brineybeard, where the stress of trying to do what was a two-god job was what ultimately allowed the souls to take control. He hoped that if he could get even a handful of souls to relent, Hott would overpower them and finally regain his senses.

Finally sure of his sanity, he poked his head into the car to really take it in, and promptly regret looking as shabby as he did. He’d _never_ seen a more posh car _in his life_. The entire place was so upscale he could almost imagine Rumor’s tower looking like a regular everyday shack in comparison. The carpet was as expensive looking as it got, ornately designed in such a way that he imagined it took two generations of family just to get it halfway done. The chairs all had crystals and gold inlaid in deep, rich cherry wood. The walls too, were decorated with golden designs that gleamed from the gilded chandeliers delicately swaying with the motion of the train. The ceiling rose high above his head, arched like those drawings he’d seen in the history books Elder Kettle had let them read.

Even the air had a high-end quality to it, with a faint hint of rose. The people were less ritzy, but none looked like those three creatures from the earlier cars. He could even see the other brakeman chatting away with a headless horse. Looking down at his scuffed brown boots, his stained socks, his even more stained clothing, he felt like the moment he stepped in, he’d be spotted. And though the sheer level of cleanliness made him hopeful that they’d mostly just sneer at him, he didn’t want to deny the chance of things going sideways. Then again, they too seemed far too chipper for the situation. It was as if everyone was doing their absolute best to ignore everything that wasn’t in the car.

He eased past the bathroom marked for women and started down the aisle, keeping his arms tucked close. He only got a quarter of the way down before a distressed cry caused him to jolt and his shoulders to knock against his head. A woman appeared before him, with soft black hair, ruby red lips, a royal dress with an almost too bright yellow skirt, and pale skin.

“Oh dear! You poor child!” She cried, her voice high with pity. She ushered the child into a seat made of what could only be leather and began gesturing for someone to hand her a handkerchief. His cheeks flushed a bright blue as she began cleaning his face, muttering soothing nothings to him as she did so. Another woman began digging through a suitcase beside an exasperated man, tossing aside shirts and—to the man’s embarrassment—underwear in her search for whatever she was looking for.

When she let out a cheer, holding clothing in her dainty fingers, he had but a moment to realize she’d been looking for clothing before he was dragged to the bathroom and locked in. The men in the car either chuckled or sighed at the antics. The brakeman laughed.

====-====-====-====

By the time he was allowed back out, he’d never felt cleaner in his _life_. They’d scrubbed away the filth from the other cars and the residue left by Inkwell Isle Three’s fog. They’d polished him using something that wound up leaving him smelling nothing but rose and ocean mist. He’d also been forced to change, with the two noble women passing the ruined clothing to the third woman who promptly tossed them out the door of the car. He’d been surprised to see no wound where the creature had stabbed him, but that had been overshadowed by the intimidation felt when the women descended on him, determination bright in their eyes.

He was in clothing that fit him—surprisingly—with rather rich feeling shorts, a nice navy-blue shirt with gold embroidered in artful designs on the shoulders and arms, and new socks. They’d even tied another bow around his handle, cooing at the overall effect. He bet if he’d been taller than their hips, they wouldn’t have treated him like that. As it was, he was squeaky clean, he was dolled up _again_ —because the women felt it only right to keep the _wonderful_ work done by the theater—and he was surrounded by motherly doting. He’d never been so flustered in his _life._

He’d have tried to bail by now, but his shoes were being held hostage by an elf who was muttering about how much work there was left to do. That, and they looked _genuinely_ happy rather than how they’d appeared before. He could _almost_ hear his brother hysterically cackling, pointing at his mascara thick lashes as his face turned more and more red. Mugman huffed, entirely unsure how to proceed now that he himself was under the full might of parental charm. Though one of the men had scoffed at the cooing, a quick—and so bone chillingly frightening, hate filled warning glare that even the train seemed to shudder—look had him burying his face in his newspaper.

“Dear me, how horrid those other cars must have been! Sweet thing, it must have been so frightful to come this way!” The black-haired woman with skin that reminded him of snow sympathetically held his hand in her own. He weakly smiled back, and he must have been using his adorable face because he was smothered in her hug not a breath later.

“Don’t worry m’boy. You’re safe here! Can’t deny that fact, oh no!” A man with an impressive mustache and a tiny wooden puppet he’d been poking at remarked.

“Gosh, thank you?” Mugman replied, voice muffled by the woman’s dress.

“No need to thank us.” She said even as the other woman responded as well.

“Such a mild-mannered child, how wonderful your mother must have raised you!”

“He got through those other cars in one piece! You saw what happened to Betty when she tried! He must have learned how to tough it out from his father!” The man who’d scoffed earlier adjusted his glasses proudly.

“What are you doing here kid?” The brakeman finally spoke up, causing the rest to fall into a hush.

“I’m actually trying to get off this train. Specter pulled me on and your brother, I think, told me it was going too fast to just pull an emergency stop on. So I was hoping I’d be able to—”

“You met my brother? Why he’s all the way down in the hope car last I checked! You went that far? How did you survive getting past T-Bones car?” The brakeman was far too close to Mugman’s face for comfort, making him lean away into the arms of the red-haired woman who’d found clothing for him.

“I... walked? And might have kicked a plate at a creature with no face, I’m not too certain about that part though.” His hands clenched together tightly, abruptly realizing he didn’t know whether this brother was like the other or not. He’d learned from Inkwell that not all siblings were close enough in personality that it was easy to converse without fear of saying the wrong thing.

He must have given a non-verbal cue to ask all kinds of questions because he was bombarded by them in the next moment. This brakeman had the same reaction to being told it had been a century plus as the other had. He also kept glancing at the door behind Mugman, as if only now considering going back out to get to his brother.

“It just, I can’t believe Hott’s been like this for over a century, are you sure?”

“I’m failing to see how lying about that would help me in any way.”

“But he’s Hott! He’s our engine! And his sister! Surely, she wouldn’t just leave us! She was so nice when we talked to her all those years ago!” Mugman sighed, raising a brow and putting his chin on his palm.

“And I thought Elder Kettle was just trying to teach us how to survive on our own by staying away for months on end as soon as we started reading the wordier books.” He replied, voice bland.

“Dear me, months? What did his wife say about that?”

“Oh he raised us by himself. But really, I have to get off this train soon. My brother needs me, and I can’t just abandon him to wherever he is.” Mugman tried to stand.

“But you said he’s dead, so shouldn’t he be here? Or perhaps with Miss. Chalice?” The red-haired woman said, keeping him from fully leaving the circle he’d found himself in. The elf handed back brand-new boots, shined to a mirror polish. He let the woman pull him down again just so he could put the boots on. He thanked the elf politely and tried a different tactic to getting free.

“Gosh, being on Inkwell means he’s either already where ever souls go or he’s doing whatever ghosts do when there aren’t any chains to rattle or people to shout ‘boo’ at. I can’t leave my poor brother all on his lonesome! So even if I don’t find what I need here, I still need to go back!” He let tears build up in his eyes, letting only one lone tear slip down his lightly flushed cheeks. The immediate cooing from his crowd and the hesitant release of the hold around his arms told him he’d once again out-cute them all.

“A century?” The brakeman weakly repeated for the umpteenth time.

“Like I told your brother, I might not be able to do anything in the long run, but if I just sit around like…well you have, then it’ll be longer than that for the Phantom Express. I couldn’t imagine being stuck here for a thousand years, much less the short time I’ve been on already. Thank you again for being so kind, but I must be going.” He broke free and speed walked to the other door. No one tried to stop him, but the black-haired woman did say he was more than welcome to return when things didn’t work out.

The last thing he saw was the brakeman staring out the window once more, an unreadable furrow in his brow.

====-====-====-====

From his vantage point, he could hear the train’s engine seemingly only one car away. The angry wails and despising shrieks were so close he could finally make out a few broken words. But the words were too scattered to tell him anything other than there was an unholy amount of dead just one or two cars away. A bolt of anticipation shot through his frame, and Mugman pulled the door to the next car open with an almost hop in his step.

He jus about smacked face first into Specter. Specter floated away, palms up so he could eye the boy now in the carriage reserved for the workers. Mugman waved to the ghost, hesitantly stepping in when given enough room. He still hadn’t forgotten the thing he’d seen earlier.

“Here? Oh?” Specter, who seemed shocked at Mugman’s appearance more than him being at the front of the train, continued to drift away, as if forgetting he was drifting in the first place.

“Yes, I met the others, do none of you know how long it’s been?” The door closed behind him, shutting the sound off once more, leaving the two in a silence Mugman couldn’t find any comfort in the way he could the caboose’s silence.

“Long? How long? Eighty feet. No… a month?”

“It’s been a century. You really didn’t know?”

“No? No…NO! Hott!” Specter shouted, hands flying up to press against his ghostly head. “Help! He’s being overrun! T-bone! T-bone please! Hott! Hott!” As Specter continued to cry out, voice high and terrified, Mugman began to ease around Specter.

“Help! Please! Anyone!”

Mugman wanted to try and soothe the ghost, but he couldn’t see how. The ghost was far too deep in a state of shocked panic to help, especially when the help came from someone he didn’t know. Hoping his cries would be heard by one of the other workers, he darted down the car and just as he reached the door Specter was behind him, lifting him up, numerous eyes spawning from nothing to stare at him, glazed with horror.

“What are you doing? Where are you going? Don’t! Hott needs help!”

“That’s what I’m going to try and do!” Mugman shouted, struggling in the far too tight grip. There was no malice behind the hold, just fear that he was going to make things worse for the engine. When Specter heard him, when his words registered, Specter dropped him none too gently Mugman caught himself, just barely.

“What? How?”

“I don’t know? But whatever you’re doing isn’t working so I’ve got to try _something_.” Mugman took the confused pause to launch himself out into the void again. Specter reared back as the boy vanished behind the door, an affronted drive to respond warring with the decades of other emotions just screaming endlessly at nothing in his mind.

====-====-====-====

It was _loud._

The engine was roaring ahead, fire blazing so brightly it cut a deep hole in the surrounding darkness, finally letting Mugman see what looked like bricks or rock. He tried to figure out how they were still in the tunnel, tried to piece together how the train could, at the speeds it was going, not have burst out of the ground at some point. He had a second to see the lead engine start to hit a turn to grab ahold of the ladder closest to him, the one attached to the car housing what he guessed was the tender. It wasn’t like he expected, but then, he wasn’t too sure _what_ he expected beyond ghost coal or ghost wood to feed a ghost furnace.

Instead it was a mass of tentacles on top of ghost coal. It was right about the moment he realized that perhaps the mass was actually the thing possessing Hott. He watched as one of the feelers picked up a chunk of coal and popped it into an open grate on the side of the engine. The same grate that was pouring vivid orange fire. Awed as he was by the scene, he failed to notice a stray tentacle thing finding his foot. Not until a countless amount of eyes sprang open, all wildly searching around, eventually locking onto his small form. He was immediately hauled into the air in the next second by his ankle.

Dangling upside down, he was bombarded with a terrifying number of threats, death-wishes, cries for salvation, hate filled rants, and simple angry shouting. His bag fell to the floor below. More feelers, some transparent blue, others a fleshy tone, others still a mottled array of colors, began to prod at him. It felt like they were trying to decide whether they should break him apart or just throw him to the tracks below. Only, one of the feelers strayed away, curling up his cheek, poking at the straw held in place by magic, and going for the soul liquid below.

He was unceremoniously dropped to the floor when in the next instant a wall of lightning was crashing down on the mass. Landing in a heap by his bag, he snatched it up and tried to move away. That proved difficult when a stray tentacle that had evaded being hit remained tightly coiled around his thigh. He grabbed it, hoping whatever had fried the others would continue keeping them at bay until he could rip the thing off. It tugged him closer to the writhing mass, promises of agony hissing from the shadows around it. He yanked on the thing, hissing equally vindictive promises back. If he died to what looked like Cala Maria’s early hair days, he _was going to make whatever killed him wish there was a second death._

“Fiesty! Hey now! That’s our boss you’re leaching off of.” Mugman heard behind him, then a coil familiar to him thanks to the train with the owner of said coil, wrapped around his middle, anchoring him down so it couldn’t drag him any further. The familiar face of the brakeman, the one from the early car, popped into his view, lighting pouring down his chin like drool.

“Hey there! I saw you was making decent progress and figured… ‘hey, if a living kid can do it, shucks, why can’t I?”

“Stealing the thunder, I see!” The other sibling popped out, slithering along the edge of the car behind them, cord attaching him to the train going through the frame in a way that Mugman couldn’t wrap his head around.

“Just lighting the place up a bit!” The other returned, eyeing the lone strand staring back with hundreds of beady eyes. A stray bolt of lighting nailed it, and it reared back, squealing angrily. Mugman took his chance to move back towards the other car. The rest of the mass retaliated, lunging for the trio, murder in a million eyes. The two brothers spat out a wall of bright yellow lightning, raining electricity down with barbarous glee. By the time they stopped, the room was full of nothing but singed and scorched remains.

“No way… It was that easy?” One of the brothers cried out, disbelief evident. Mugman, who’d seen the effects of thinking something was too easy, paled. But before he could even open his mouth, he was being dragged to the edge of the platform, towards the engine. The mass had apparently simply moved below the floorboards. That, or it was larger than they thought. Either way it wouldn’t have surprised Mugman. Not that he was feeling anything but panic as he tried to break the hold on his wrists and knees.

The brothers snapped to it again, but they couldn’t unleash any amount of electricity lest they caught him in it too, and while it likely wouldn’t kill him, he wasn’t all that certain it wouldn’t hurt bad enough to make him wish he was dead.

“This is gross! You’re all gross!” He bit out as he tore one arm free, only to lose it a moment later. Eyes, hungry for an impressive number of not so nice things stared at him. It was as if they knew he wasn’t dead and wanted to make him pay for that fact. By killing him. And though Mugman sort of wanted to let them, as it would put him on their level and he was damn sure even as a ghost he’d be more than willing to show them just how bad a decision killing him had been; he didn’t want to then be stuck on the Express after.

The brothers tried to cut at some of the mass, or pull him back without harming him, but the mass had taken to going at them too, trying to pull their heads from their cords from the looks of it.

“Well ain’t this the nastiest thing I done see in a _goooood long while._ ” The gruff voice of the engineer rambled out from behind everyone. The blaze brothers looked overjoyed to see T-bone, until the saw the copious amounts of blood coating him. Even the mass paused a moment to take in the puddle forming below the skeleton.

“What? You got a better way of clearing out a car? I’d like t’ hear it you legless bastards.” T-bone snarled, easily reaching past them all to Mugman. Bones glowing red hot, he seared through the mass just enough to allow Mugman a chance to pull himself further away from the edge. Not enough, however, to prevent a stray tentacle, the same that had been there before, to slide up his face and dip straight into his soul liquid. Immediately he felt a crushing wave of thoughts plow through his own, tearing into his soul, as if trying to set up shop by removing the current host.

They eagerly reached deeper into his soul, clawing into memories, as if to tear them apart.

Behind the boy, cast from the light of the furnace, a shadow grew darker, larger, gaining a shape none present had. From it, two golden slit eyes burned brighter than a star at the thing coiling countless feelers around the still child. The boy was limp, unmoving despite the insistent shouts around him. It was the newcomer that spotted the thing first. Specter went slack-jawed as the shadow crawled back down the wall, sliding towards Mugman with a liquid like quality.

The second it reached him, the second the golden gaze landed on the eyes of the feeler soaking up the soul liquid, the entire mass _burned._ It all went up in a brilliant golden blaze, unnaturally colored, and, to the added surprise of the others, it was _frigid._ It cut through the mass, searing the hold it had on the child with far more ease than the lightning had. Racing up panicked tentacles, diving straight into the firebox with brutal efficiency.

Specter pulled Mugman away, lightly patting his cheek to try and wake the boy up from his daze. T-bone caught sight of a vial peeking out of the bag as the train belted out a wailing whistle and began to vacillate between speeding up and slamming on its brakes. The blaze brothers spotted the vial too, and without hesitating they tag teamed the vial open and started coaxing it down the vacantly staring child. Specter was silent for a moment until his brain reminded him of just _who_ made such potions, and just _what_ they were feeding said potion into.

“Stop! You’ll make him worse!” Specter cried, pulling the limp child away from the surprised brothers. T-bone finally caught sight of the two eyes peering at them from Mugman’s shadow, and felt a multitude of shivers crawl down his spine. It gazed at them for a breath, and then was gone. It was at that moment Mugman started coughing, body wracked with painful sounding shivers as he tried to curl into Specter’s hold. The stress must have been too much, because in the next second the boy was going entirely limp in Specter’s hold. Specter clutched him tighter, worried the boy would die on the train and be stuck like the rest of them, which wasn’t something Specter wanted. Especially not considering what the child in his arms was. He didn’t think Hott could survive being possessed _and_ being ripped apart by an angry god.

The train screamed out again, but this time, it wasn’t the same anger from before. This rage sounded like what normally accompanied a _vendetta._ The train workers perked up, the sheer fact that it sounded entirely like Hott instead of a multitude of unfamiliar souls drawing their attention away from the mortal.

“Hott? That you? Listen Hott, you gotta hit the brakes! You gotta slow it down! We got a stow-a-way buddy!” One of the brothers shouted over the screaming. It seemed like Hott had heard them, because the speed they’d been going at for a century _finally_ began to decrease. The wheels under Hott shrieked with protest as the rest of the train smashed into the engine. The momentum long kept making the heavier cars overpower whatever brakes Hott had. It didn’t help that the mass of souls wasn’t gone, and was weakly fending off the remains of golden fire, trying to regain strength and take back control.

The crew, minus Specter who kept an eye on the child, and was too emotional to so much as open his mouth, kept urging Hott on.

“Just a little more, Boss, then we’ll take over. You don’t gotta worry about a thing Boss!”

“Good grief, is that bits of deer I spot? Not only have these ungrateful brats possessed you but they left you filthy! You gonna let them get away with that? There ain’t no way you _can’t_ taste the rot!”

“Oh forget it, I’m hittin’ them brakes _now_ , you gotta pull up to Hell central Boss! Kid needs to be dropped off.”

“Bro, there are a lot of souls what gotta be dropped off out there.”

“Yeah but we picked him up out there too, and frankly I ain’t feeling charitable to any of them layabouts.”

“You sound like T-bone.”

“You say that like it’s an insult.”

“Not at all T-bone… rapscallion.”

“You _son of a—”_

“It’s slow enough! Hold on Specter!”

Immediately, all the brakes in every car activated, slamming down _hard_ on the overworked gears within. The screech of metal on metal made everyone cringe, T-bone wailing about how unfair it was that his ears hurt when he didn’t even have any in the first place. Specter easily braced himself, taking a moment to bundle the child up in his arms so he’d be ready to get the boy away from Hott in case the enraged ghosts took back over. Something he had no doubt would happen. The crew simply _wasn’t_ capable of purifying the souls, the best they could do was daze the souls long enough to hope Chalice would _finally_ take up her job again. None truly believed that was going to happen any time soon though, bitter resentment curling through the crew, aimed at the goddess of death.

Hott seemed to be pulling some form of strength from listening to the familiar banter that hadn’t gone on for a _damn_ long time, even before the possession happened. They’d all been _far_ too stressed to do anything but either snap angrily at one another or just ignore everything in favor of trying to settle wrathful dead. The whistle blew once more, and the opening to the tunnel appeared. Specter edged closer to the side, ready to toss the boy if it came down to that.

Wheels letting off a red-hot glow, steam hissing from every car, the train did manage to slide to a stop right in the station. The entrance to Hell just across from the group. It was T-bone that reacted first, snatching the boy up even as the mass began to crawl around Hott, trying to encompass Hott’s body. The blaze brothers went back to work, completely aware that no amount of electricity could hurt their boss. So they unleashed a hail of it, downpouring as much of a charge as they could with the extra build-up from the sudden stop. T-bone threw himself halfway off the train, stretching his arm out to get the slowly awakening child as close to the cave as possible. When he began trying to move, T-bone, feeling the train begin to shift as well—dumped the boy as gently as possible on his feet.

The mass took note of its prey having shifted, and through the hail of lightning, numerous ghostly hands began scrabbling towards the weakened mortal. T-bone played the most desperate game of whack-a-mole anyone had seen, mashing the hands into the ground as Hott belted out another whistle, one that usually drew the attention of Hell’s workers. To their dismay, a barrier shimmered into view, as if answering in place of Hell. Mugman stumbled back towards the entrance, trying to regain his senses but too sluggish from whatever the potion had done to him. A cold, golden fire gently burned the remains of the attempted possession from his mind, only leaving him feeling even more weak.

As he began to fall to his knees, and as the hands eclipsed all the attempts of Hott and his crew, something _else_ answered the second whistle. Two hell hounds dove from the depths of the cave, snapping at the far too close hands. Then one hand, clawed, covered in black fur, stretched from the barrier to hover beside the mortal. Another joined it in hovering, as if waiting. When Mugman finally lost all the strength in his body, they caught him, as well as ten more arms that crawled from the darkness. Hott began to move, doggedly trying to push forward to carry the souls from the entrance, away from the boy.

The Blaze brothers nodded to the two familiar eyes observing their situation. T-bone hauled himself back onto the train as the brother’s released the brakes, making it easier on Hott. The boy was pulled into the barrier, out of their sight, and away from the hands angrily reaching for him. As the train picked up speed, souls taking their anger out on Hott, dragging him under once more even if there were less souls to do so, the team retreated to the worker car. They all knew better than to hope the Devil would be able or willing to help them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How I went from 'i don't know what to do' to THIS, I have no freaking clue. It's so damn long I can't even begin to tell you how it got this way. This thing alone shoved Corruption's word count into the 100,000's. It's a lot to take in.  
> But! I do hope you spotted the theme used for the Phantom Express.  
> And sure, fearing water will take you away or your sibling away is childish, but Cuphead is indeed a child. It ain't all sunshine in the casino either, apparently! And Mugman finally reached the lair of the Devil or more, it reached OUT to him. ha!  
> As an aside, because I did an ungodly amount of research on trains for this, the train car Specter pops out of in game is most likely a dome car. Pullman cars were the top of the line, and though he didn't invent sleeper cars, he perfected them.


	19. Play it Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cuphead wasn't much for the stage anyway.

Cuphead wasn’t all too sure how long he sat on the beach, draining of salt water. He knew it was enough to watch the fog clear up impressively fast. From where he sat, when he lifted his head, he could see the town in the lighter patches. Though the fog was still there, it wasn’t anywhere _near_ the tar like thickness of before, and acted as a visual sign that Inkwell was changing. He wanted to feel happy about that, but it was hard to feel anything but cold numbness. He wobbled a few steps forward, legs weak. Wanting to be further from the water than he was currently, he stubbornly pressed on, forcing his legs to move.

Behind him, Brineybeard’s ship could be seen faintly, or at least, the two halves with a skeletal frame in the middle. Ahead of him, he could hear voices, but his salt clogged mind couldn’t really place them, not until he saw the bright red gown and the sharp green scales. Bon Bon stood by Grim, tossing large pieces of concrete and brick off of her downed brother with unnerving ease. He must have made some sort of noise, or Grim’s eyes focusing on him must have alerted her. She turned, red lips parted with surprise.

“There you are!” She called out, patting Grim’s snout before heading over to the child. “Goodness, when Grim told me you’d been flung into Cala’s territory, I was worried! But you’re fine! Or…” She faded off mid-word, brows sinking down, worry rising. “Child? Oh….Oh no, come here.” She had only taken in his appearance for a second, but whatever saw prompted her to wrap her arms around him and pull him into a hug. She smelled like strawberries and other sweet things he had no names for.

Cuphead wondered why she was shaking, wondered if she was crying or laughing at something. When he opened his mouth to ask, a choked sob came out instead. She pressed his face into her shawl, cooing and vowing vengeance on Cala in low, soothing tones. Grim wiggled around, covering the already muffled sounds of his crying, something Cuphead would later be thankful for. For now, and for ten minutes, he didn’t care about that.

“Dear, don’t worry, shhh, don’t worry little one. When she gets back I’ll break out the gatling gun and feed her her own scales. Your Domain is putting her through the works I’m sure, you’ve still got to find your brother, don’t you?” She wiped his tears away with a steady hand, biting back a grin when he started to whine and squirm to get out of her grip, face a vivid red hue. She didn’t seem remotely phased at the red staining the rich fabric at her shoulder or her gloves, far more focused on him and his reactions. At the mention of his sibling, Cuphead perked up.

“That’s right! That one luck god told me he was being kept by the Devil! Said he wasn’t doing so hot; do you know how I get there?” Though his voice cracked a couple times, his stance was steady, the drive to get to his brother flushing out his embarrassment. She frowned, glancing back at Grim. Much as she wanted to have her brother fly the child over, his wings were shredded beyond recognition. He’d be more than useless, and she couldn’t just leave her sibling, not if it meant giving the child gazing up at her so earnestly a better chance of getting off the Isles with his sibling safe.

“Follow this road here up that way, you’ll have to go past the mausoleum, so be aware of that. Go up towards the theater, should be no trouble really, cross the bridge, don’t attract the Express, and it’ll be in a cave entrance. It’s behind a barrier though, none of us have ever been able to cross through it. That furball has Hell’s magic guarding him. It’ll be…hard... wait!”

“Thanks Auntie!” Cuphead darted off, whispering her directions under his breath as he ran the way she pointed. Bon Bon sighed, turning to return to Grim. Grim’s impatient shuffling only buried him further, and she heaved another sigh, rubbing her temples. Grim watched the young god vanish from view, ears perked high. He turned back to his sister, tail giving a little wag.

“Did he call you Auntie?”

‘ _We were adopted!’_

====-====-====-====

With the air feeling lighter, and with Inkwell giving off a less hostile presence, jogging his way through town was easier. He had to stop running when his wet boots hit a puddle of dark grey ichor and he nearly learned what the pavement tasted like. Ahead of him loomed the mausoleum, easily picked out from the other buildings simply because of it’s regal looking appearance. Well, it’s _former_ regal looking appearance. The building suffered the same effects of time as the other buildings had. What was once a pristine white was now dingy grey. Patches of stone had crumbled off the façade, leaving it looking tired, almost neglected.

The other thing that briefly held his attention was the bits of corpse scattered about the entrance. Decay and whatever other fluids built up in corpses after a time splattered the stairs, pooling in the doorway. He ignored it, figuring it was the goddess inside showing her distaste of mortals in her own way. As he was passing by the broken stairwell, there rose a wailing shriek so full of anger he almost tripped again. His attention didn’t last long on the building, something about the other, much smaller building by the mausoleum calling out to his Domain.

As he ran past the mausoleum, another, much angrier scream erupted from the mausoleum and his hand automatically shot out. Without his control, he fired a shot at whatever golden thing had appeared in the doorway. Far more interested in what could be hiding in the shop that was calling out to him so strongly, he ignored the bellowing cry of agony. He didn’t much care about the goddess’ tantrums, though, he did wonder how she was still so angry if he’d shot her earlier. He spared exactly five steps to ponder whether he’d shot _her_ or someone else in that first mausoleum, and then he was entering the shop.

Of course, right as his mind was shouting about how the last time he’d seen the place, he’d avoided it like he did that vengeful squirrel that came every other Tuesday to their house. This was proven to still hold up when a massive form, easily twice his height and three times his weight came charging at him. He shrieked, curling his arms over his face protectively. Inches from his body, the thing stopped. Heavy breathing filled the silence, mixed with his body rattling audibly. Finally, the figure stepped back, and his shadow, which had grown darker, returned to normal.

“Huh… So, ya ain’t dead. Boy is that kid going to be surprised.” A deep bass rumbled blithely. Cuphead looked up, peeking past his raised arms at the new person. A minute passed with the two simply taking the other in. The moment broke when a fish hopped out of Cuphead’s head, and flopped onto the floor in between them. The man took a second to glance between the slow flush of red building on Cuphead’s face and the fish splashing away on his floor.

“Yup, _definitely_ related.”

====-====-====-=====

“Hey wait, you saw my brother?” Cuphead, towel in hand, two more fish pulled from his clothes, and one starfish clinging determinedly to his straw, questioned. Porkrind nodded, biting down on the small trout that had first appeared.

“Kid ran in here away from Chalice.” Cuphead watched in undisguised awe as Porkrind bit clean through the fish’s bones, not minding the scales or blood that ran down his arm to puddle on his counter. “Figured I’d help ‘im out with getting’ past Stageplay up ahead. You goin’ the same way or just sight-seeing?” Though his tone was conversational, there was an edge to the way Porkrind was looking at Cuphead. It wasn’t quite hostile, but it certainly wasn’t trusting. Cuphead got the very distinct impression the man wouldn’t hesitate to crush him like he did the fish if Cuphead’s response wasn’t the one he was looking for. In a way, he almost felt thrown off.

“I thought about taking a scenic walk, but turns out the locals aren’t all that welcoming.” Cuphead crossed his arms over his chest, towel clenched tightly in his hand. He felt like he was asking a father for his daughters’ hand in marriage. Like a prince asking for the kings’ daughter. Porkrind huffed, snorted, and swallowed the rest of the fish whole. The ease of tension from Porkrind eased Cuphead’s tension in turn. Even so, Cuphead remained stubborn, Mugman was his brother, there wasn’t anything else on the planet that would ever get him to so much as breathe the air near the barrier around Inkwell.

“Better hurry up then. There’s a show waiting for you, courtesy of the resident theater nut. Don’t try and get around it either. She’ll knock you clear back to Isle One before you even see the bridge. I’d like t’ help, except… I’m certain she didn’t like my past performance.” He crunched his way though the second fish, prodding the starfish with a thick finger. Cuphead made a confused noise, losing the stubborn set on his jaw. Porkrind gestured to the door.

“Well go on! Go see if you can outdo your brother. If you want to get to that train, you’ll have to put on one hell of a show. As a warning, Phantom Express went wild a couple days ago, been acting up far more than usual, so I’d try my best to avoid needlessly antagonizing Stageplay if you want the best chance possible of getting past Hott and the rest. Hurry it up, before you lead any of the other gods in here. Don’t need no deities thinkin’ I’m a target again after all these years.” He began to usher the far smaller child out, keeping his hands off Cuphead, but still getting the young god to leave.

“Oh! Before I forget, wait there.” Porkrind vanished into the shop once more, leaving Cuphead standing awkwardly at the door. When the man returned, he had a little charm on a ribbon in hand.  In his other was one, except that one was red instead of the blue one in his other hand. “Give this thing over t’ yer brother. He wasn’t looking too swell when he got in here, after I got back started making a little something that’d help. This’n is for you.” Porkrind leaned down, pinning Cuphead with a rather stern gaze.

“I don’t fancy knowin’ that kid died because his brother was _slow._ Tie this somewhere and it’ll boost your energy for short periods of time.” Cuphead took the offered charms, nodding hastily, feeling almost like he was being scolded by Elder Kettle. Nodding, Porkrind sent him one last _stare_ then vanished back into the shop, closing the door behind him. Cuphead looked at the two charms, Eying the strange heart symbol on the charm for Mugman and the little ‘S’ emblazoned on the charm meant for him. Shrugging, he tied it around the top of his handle in a sloppy but effective knot. The charm gently clinked against his porcelain, and oddly enough, he really did feel a bit less tired. Calling out a thanks, he turned on his heel and continued on.

He glanced down at the blue ribbon, unsure of where to put it, ultimately letting his Domain take it in. As he approached the path leading up to the theater, the sound of more hammering started up. Confused, Cuphead turned around, trying to see if Brineybeard’s ship had broken free of the dock and was now drifting. The fog made it difficult to pinpoint the direction of the sound, and he remained puzzled until he finally got a gander at the theater.

A woman wearing rather colorful clothing was angrily hammering away at a gaping hole where the entrance had been. Her other hand was busy slapping bricks into wet mortar, rebuilding the doorway. He let his Domain pull him into her memories, figuring he wouldn’t have a chance later when she noticed him.

Only, he got to right about where Mugman popped up over a dazed Porkrind’s shoulder to happily tell the goddess about drive-in theaters before—and if Cuphead was honest, the loud laughter that burst out of him was probably what got her attention—she turned her head and _glared_ at him. He’d seen hostility before, but not ever mixed with a heaping mound of vengeance.

He was almost impressed.

He was about to try and toss in a joke of his own, but she was thundering towards him with a war cry ripping from her powerful vocal cords. On top of that, he was still seeing flashes of her memories. As it was, he wound up too busy desperately trying to suppress the laughter that desperately wanted out to really protest her grabbing his arm tightly and dragging him into the building. The wide-eyed, startled stare on his brother’s dolled-up face was too much for him. He let her drag him while he belted out the laugh of a brother finding ammo against their sibling.

Sally grumbled under her breath, countless plays flashing across her mind’s eye, vengeance rubbing its hands together in her soul. She tossed him onto the stage, tapping her foot rapidly when he collapsed and hammered the smooth surface with his fist. She heard him wheeze something about ‘a dress!’ mixed with weakly suppressed laughter.

“Laugh it up kid, you got any idea how _painful_ it is to try and fix a damn building while hungover? Do you have _any idea_ how much _damn_ alcohol I chugged because your little imp of a brother abused creative license?” She hissed, hands on hips, bent at the waist to glower at him. He wheezed, lifting his head up to look at her, only to fall back into hysterical laughter a second later. She sucked in a deep breath, stooped down, and plucked his head clean off his shoulders. By the time his body had lurched up, she’d already taken a hearty mouthful of his soul liquid. She carelessly dropped his head ignoring the shadow crackling onto the stage.

When the god tried to lunge up and punch her, indignation burning bright on his cheeks, the stage _warped._ Bending and snapping, the boards shot up. They coiled around his wrist, pulling him off balance. Then they were bashing the back of his knees to bring him down in one startled heap. Boards wrapped around him, creaking as they tightened to the point that Cuphead couldn’t even squirm. After a healthy bout of silence, she snapped.

“I’ve got it! Boy! One thing you certainly don’t know or understand, is that out there, you hold the royal flush. In here? Not only do I have the ace up my sleeve, but I’ve got more than a few tricks too.” As she spoke, the theater began to rumble, she prowled around his prone form, steps light and sure. Cuphead yanked on his hands, hoping to free them. He might as well have been trying to break his own arms off with how useless it was.

“You’re just mad because my brother out-acted you!” He bit out, glaring at her, eyes blazing bright gold. She threw her head back and cackled.

“Boy! In the world of acting, I’m the reigning queen! But you see…” She dipped low again, stealing his head from his shoulders to hold it close to her face. “In this world, ya gotta have the drive to be like me, the _best_ , ya gotta be willing to _bleed_. If you do? My _darling_ theater takes what you give it, and… _well,_ see for yourself! Djimmi, eat your heart out.” She turned him so he faced the stage.

Built of wood, with clear joints, sat limp upon a chair with an empty gaze was a replica of his brother. Though, the eyes were more purple than blue. “Did you see it?” She hissed right by his cheek, nails digging into his porcelain. “A stage needs actors, and what I can’t get, _I make._ ” She dropped him once more, the stage freed him, allowing him to catch his head before it hit the floor. He shot to his feet. He knew that earlier, he’d promised to just punch the next person to take his brother’s form, but there was a slight problem.

He could read flashes of memories from the thing being circled by Sally, examined by her for any flaws. Not many, but it was enough that he could read even that much to make him balk. He’d not even gotten to the train yet, but there, clear in those memories, a _thing_ charged at his brother on a compact rail car. It cut off before he could see much else, as if the connection was entirely too weak.

“I tell you, so often I have to rely on old actors _loooong_ dead. But! A hundred bland years go by, and boom! This little brat,” She spun, pulling the replica up by the wrist, hugging it to her chest like a child holding a teddy bear. “Barrels his way in and steals the show! You know I lost three actors to his cute act? Kid should have just strolled through with that damn act going full force, probably would have had half of those morons out there throwing themselves at his feet.” She glared at nothing in particular, looking out into the audience. Cuphead couldn’t take his eyes off the empty, blank expression decorating the doll’s face.

“I can’t quite get the _perfect_ replica, don’t have the body after all,” She hummed, absentmindedly breaking into a slow waltz, dragging the limp body with her. “But he bled here, my darling theater tasted his soul, and I tasted yours. I didn’t do this just to see that horrified look on your face though! I must admit it _certainly_ eases the burn of embarrassment _just a hint._ ” She dropped the doll, prop, replica, Cuphead didn’t know. He reflexively reached to catch the figure, stopping after taking a single step, soul liquid starting to steam. It collapsed to the floor in a heap. Cuphead’s temper _burned._

“I’ve got the perfect play for you!”

“Are you kidding?” The younger gods shadow writhed on the floor, feather blazing brighter than any of her stage lights. “Do I _look_ like one of those stupid actors?!” He threw his arm out to gesture behind him harshly. The crowd behind him hissed and writhed heatedly. The lights above him began to hum, louder and louder until they burst, showering the stage with glass. She looked between him and the lights, brows furrowed in deep thought. Then, without much hesitation, she chuckled.

“You do indeed look like a stupid actor. You probably couldn’t act your way out of a shoebox if the lid was missing.” She nudged the still form with her shoe, looking down at it as if examining something borderline trash. “Get up, you’ve got work to do little replica. That rude sibling of yours is ruining my theater. He’s dimwitted and I don’t care for that.” The small wooden doll shuddered, arduously lifting himself up, limbs appearing far too heavy for the doll to properly work.

Cuphead’s hands burned with the magic usually forming bullets, dripping liquid power onto the deforming floor. Once the doll stood, albeit staggering here or there, Sally began to pick at it, irritably pulling bits of glass from it, muttering about needed to get a wardrobe set up for it. Cuphead turned sharply, bent on just walking away like he had Chalice.

There was no exit. No audience. Nothing.

The stage extended on, seemingly into eternity. There was no end to the smooth boards spreading out into a distant void.

“How interesting I find it, that your frail little sibling took the challenge to heart. How determined he was to reach the train, through sleet or hail or rain!” Sally loudly mused, gesturing for a wardrobe to waddle out onto the stage for her to start digging through. The replica listlessly stood, peering at Cuphead from the corner of its dark eyes. Cuphead tried to call the world his own Domain owned, hearing nothing upon doing so. The ground remained dry, his Domain remained silent. Startled by the rather oppressive silence, and by the figure so like his brother gazing at him without a single ounce of any emotion, he paused.

“He… He likes to do this kind of stuff, I don’t.”

“And? Did he enjoy watching you die? Did he enjoy risking certain death in my theater? I _know_ I’m corrupted. I know quite well, and I don’t care. Years of dispassionate actors wanting only the fame with none of the work! When your little brat of a brother broke my damn theater doors, I thought I’d lost it! Who’s got the passion, the _drive_ , to endanger themselves so greatly without a single bit of hesitation? Surely not some tiny mortal who hadn’t even seen a stage! But no! He was!” She threw her hands in the air.

“What are you risking boy?” The question was quiet, disturbingly so. The way she went from animated to stock still certainly didn’t help.

“What?”

“Risks?! Passion! Why are you here? What could possibly be gained from just flinging yourself onto Inkwell like you’re the best thing since the printing press?” She spun the replica around, it continued to stare at him emotionlessly. The stage darkened around her, casting her and the replica into deep shadows, only exposing pieces of their forms.

“Let’s set the stage, shall we?” Her voice was low, menacing.

“A youngster with a shoddy parent and a patient brother feature in this play!” The wardrobe blocked his view of them, but when it sank into the floor, the lights erupted brightly, blinding him momentarily. “This youngster, bored, contrite, so used to having not a single problem that he becomes lazy. The patient brother,” Two golden gloved hands curled around the thin shoulders of the replica, dressed exactly as the two had always, “humors the youngster. He plays along with the other, but he never quite settles the way the youngster does.”

The stage behind her illuminated, a perfect replica of their house on a backdrop. Cuphead’s breath hitched. Two cutouts, one with Mugman’s likeness printed on it, the other with Cupheads’.

“Needless to say, the youngster bites, or rather, _downs_ more than he can swallow and poof!” The cutout of Cuphead burst into flames, turning to ashes in a matter of moments. The replica of Mugman, the one standing by Sally, raised a single hand, mirroring the little cutout, both mimed crying. Even though the replica doll didn’t emote in the least. “Gone! Faster than they can realize they’ve trusted the wrong person! Oh no!” Sally called out, her shiny outfit looking an awful lot like the one Elder Kettle wore, she even had a kettle lid on her head as a hat.

“But does the patient brother let his sorrow weigh him down? No! In fact, he takes from the youngster! Copying his brash habits and charges off into the scaaaary world! Frail, darling little patient brother sets sail. He’s got a plan, the same one the youngster would have! He heads for the dangerous Inkwell, full of nasties and baddies spoken poorly of for centuries, because he’s got a plan! Now child, I ask you, who’s the villain here? Every story has one. Is it…” She vanished in a flash, reappearing inches from his face.

“Me? Your worthless caretaker?” Her voice lowered in pitch, a poor imitation of Elder Kettle’s baritone. “Oh Cuphead! Oh Mugman, if _only_ I’d not been blind! If only I’d have realized I wasn’t the right one to raise you!” She loudly bawled, clutching her chest as if it pained her. “Or no!” She stopped, lights flickering once more. Between one flicker and the next, the replica stood before him, close enough for Cuphead to see his own reflection in the glassy eyes.

“It’s me! The patient brother!” Sally spoke, she spoke in a high-pitched, weak voice, an even worse rendition of Mugman’s. “I should have remained dutifully by your side! Even in my grief I should have faithfully waited for whatever came! How horrible am I to have left my dead brother with naught but the rats for company!”

“No!” Cuphead shouted, searching the darkness around them for her.

“No? Perhaps then, us? The _vicious deities!”_ She sprang out, grabbing the replica harshly by the handle, yanking him back into the darkness to reappear in a cage. He lay slumped against the bars. “Us brutes who spy a little lamb and just can’t. Quite. _Help themselves.”_ She appeared again, or a massive prop version of her did, with equally exposed joints and a manic smile painted on. Around the cage, various deities who’d he’d run into, Cagney, Hilda, Djimmi, and more, all appeared as cutouts. Her giant prop version lifted its hand up into a fist.

“We see a pretty little child, such a weakness among us gods don’t you know, and goodness! We simply _must_ have him! So, is it us? We who served you lot for centuries?” The fist crashed down, crushing the cage and everything else mercilessly. Cuphead made a broken noise, taking a step towards the carnage as if intending on searching for his replica sibling. The floor beneath his feet splashed with his step. He jerked his head down.

“No, no…I’ve got it! It’s us Domains!” Lurking below him, two golden eyes pierced through him. They blinked, and vanished. Heavy, scaled hands clamped down on his shoulders, wicked sharp teeth appearing in his peripheral vision to either side. “We nasty sort who up and left the straying gods to their fates. Our children! Betraying us so readily! Who’s to blame? Who indeed! Not us you suppose?” The sharp claws dug into his arms, breaking through the porcelain with impressive ease.

“I don’t…” He tried to find his voice, fear curling deep in his chest.

“No? Not us Domains… Well goodness, who does that leave then? Who…indeed… perhaps, _me?_ ” A flicker, a figure, _him_. A perfect copy of Cuphead stood before him, looking just as scared as he felt, as thrown off and unsure and angry. “Am I the villain of this play? What part do I play here? What have I done!” His perfect recreation cried, digging his fingers into the sides of his head.

“It’s not!” He reached out to shove the false Cuphead away, but the moment his hands struck the other’s chest, it was Mugman being sent toppling over into the water. He pressed his shaking hands to his chest, balling them into tight fists. “Hilda did this too! You aren’t that creative!” He snapped, glaring into the darkness around him.

“But don’t you see?” Sally appeared again, “This is _your_ play! I’m _simply_ writing from the material given! Every play has a villain, a goal, a hero, and a moral. That’s right, a moral! You decided to follow without knowing whether your presence would even help little Mugman here. For all you know, you’re _just like us._ ” She spun on her heel in a full circle, and when she was facing him again, she held the replica of Mugman in her hands. “Us gods get _awful_ possessive.” She pressed her cheek to the side of the replica’s face, arm curled possessively around the smaller body. “We can’t help it! We have but a single thing that truly belongs to us, and that’s our _darling_ siblings!” She ran a hand along the replica’s face, gold glove shining brightly against the replica’s cheek.

“Your Domain probably didn’t bother to tell you. But see, none of us really take kindly to our siblings being…to put it bluntly, taken from us! That’s _ours._ That right there is _our only._ Djimmi could die right now and I wouldn’t give a flying hoot!” She waved her other hand in a brushing manner, as if shooing away a fly. “Hilda? She’d be inconsolable. No one else would care even half as much as she would, and those two aren’t even blood related! Riddle me this, teacup. If they were indeed blood related, oh say, like a certain other set of twins! Just how do you think the response would differ?” She paused, throwing the replica at Cuphead, forcing him to catch the lighter frame.

“You weren’t there, so I’m not going to pretend you know about it. And I know for a fact that old rust pile didn’t tell you. Years ago, at least four centuries, maybe longer, I don’t care, you won’t either. There arose a rebellious little group.” She prowled, vanishing and reappearing rhythmically in the dim lights around him. “See, they figured they shouldn’t have to do anything for us! They thought ‘gee, all we gotsta do is stroll right on up to that there beastie in hell and poof! We get whatever we want and don’t even gotta beg or offer anything but our souls or something else he wants! Why, that dagger I gave to Bon Bon’s so great, she ought ta be kissin’ my feet!”

Cuphead held the other one tightly to his chest, taking comfort in the familiar shape, even if it lacked the same weight or ability to reciprocate. The wood that made it up creaked under the growing pressure until Cuphead abruptly loosened his hold without letting go.

“Why don’t we just storm that there castle an’ just swipe up them gods! There’re stories ‘bout other folk out there doin’ that don’t’cha know!” She cleared her throat, losing the accent she’d taken on.

“And indeed they tried! They weren’t all that stupid though, they knew damn well they couldn’t just stroll up to any old god, slap em into a mason jar and shake em around when they wanted something. They knew trying to go after any of us without some form of reassurance was akin to leaping off a cliff and hoping the wind would catch you. Pointless, and sure to make you the laughing stock of your own funeral. So, they targeted the lesser gods first. They went after the gods of victory. You remember them, right? Ribby and Croaks?”

He nodded weakly, trying to glare at her, but unable to focus on keeping a hostile appearance.

“They thought, ‘We’ll just force them gods to give us victory! That way we can work our way up to gods like Cala and King!’ And see, they did, in fact, manage to get _a_ god of victory. But well, the other didn’t take that all to kindly. It gets a bit fuzzy here, since most of us weren’t stuck in a paltry pantry item. We were elsewhere, crushing similar ideals on our own. But they only got the one. Had to bail. Then they recalled that King Dice, Lady Luck, wasn’t all that strong! So they took their wee little jar o’ toad, shook it until Croaks grant them certain victory, and poof! One God of Fortune, and as an added bonus, one god of Chance too! Oh how lucky they were!”

“Except, they weren’t. Like I said, our siblings are _ours._ You punch Beppi, and I’ll probably laugh at you, after I turn you into a pretzel. I can’t control it either. Neither can you. None of us can. So these morons, three gods tucked away like a kiddie keeping fireflies, go back to the other victory god, certain they’ll have a far easier time getting him. Only, Ribby is ready for them. Takes one look at his battered twin and…well… I don’t think I have to explain why there aren’t similar morons out there anymore. Just look around, they didn’t lock us up for their use this time. They locked us _away_ because they _fear_ us.”

“Ribby _slaughtered_ them. Hell, I’ve got a play based on it somewhere in here. He just went to town on them, popping skulls like balloons. Funny enough, King don’t care to talk about it all that much. Probably due to the embarrassment of losing. Though if you ask me, I think he was part of the reason those morons lost. I think if they’d left him alone, they’d have managed to catch more of us. Luck be a Lady with a _nasty_ shadow that follows it. Moral of the story, don’t bite off more than you can chew. Back on track!” She clapped her hands, startling the young god listening closely to the story.

“Us deities, we share so much of ourselves. Our power, our knowledge, our skills, _everything._ They’ll toss roses at my feet and expect grand plays in return! And I gave! I and all the others gladly gave! You ever get out of here? You will too! It’s just what we do. No matter how bad we might want to hermit ourselves away, we just can’t. So there we are, slaving away for them mortal folk, giving and giving and never asking for anything other than recipes or half-meant words of thanks or flowers in return. They take, and take, and take, and the one thing we will _never_ give them, is our other half. I’d give them Kahl, I’d gladly pass along Rumor or Cagney, but one thing I will hold until my dying breath is my own brother. Hell, I wouldn’t even pass him over to you! Or Hilda, or Cala or anyone! He’s mine, and I’m his. Boil it down enough, force Wally to pick between his gross kid and Brineybeard? He’ll ultimately pick Brineybeard even if he doesn’t act like it.”

“Look at Phantom out there, do you know why Chalice stopped doing what she did? She got awful fed up with folk demanding her brother. They cried out, they didn’t want her, they wanted Hott and the others. They wanted the one thing she exclusively owned. And she _snapped._ So! I’ll ask one more time. Why are you here? We both know the ‘bluebell’ in your arms is definitely your deity brother. He’s _yours._ Problem I see is, that’s a fake in your arms. But there you are, holding it all the same as if it was indeed sweet little Mugs. So, are you truly here to save him from the villains? Or…” She paused, standing directly in front of him, smirking as his fingers dug tighter into the replica. The lights cast a shadow on her face that only enhanced the malicious smugness in them.

“Are you simply here on a quest to regain a favorite toy? To hoard him from the world like Grim hoards bread sticks? Every play has another ingredient. The goal, the trophy to be won, the princess or gold to be gained by besting the villain. Is that all he is to you in this play of yours? Because, it looks to me like you just wanted your teddy bear back, you _do_ know you could have dropped that thing a while ago…right?” She hummed, and the stage returned to normal. Everything was back how it was before, the seats returned, the exits in place. Cuphead stared at the replica, and it stared back.

“Really, if that’s all you wanted, I’d say just lay back and relax. He’ll die soon enough if he isn’t already pushing up daisies and you’ll have him back. Hell, go murder that shopkeeper too, kid’ll probably want to—”

Cuphead tuned her out, staring at the replica silently. Something in the way it looked back at him made his head tilt to one side, oh so slowly. His straw slid along his rim. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but it almost looked like the doll was different. Then he saw just what he’d been missing. He stared for a bit longer, and a sharp smile popped onto his face. He beamed at Sally, moving the replica so its head rested on his shoulder, he’d understood what it was trying to say.

“Hey, real quick. Where’s Beppi?” Cuphead interrupted her, rhythmically tapping his fingers against the replica’s shoulder. She froze, and gave the loudest, most painful sounding scoff he’d ever heard.

“Isle two, as always. Didn’t think you’d actu—”

“No, _where_ exactly is he? As in, not just the Isle, but his exact location. If he’s yours as you say, you’d know where he is. I know where Mugman is after all! So,” His grin was _mean_. “Where’s the clown?” She worked her mouth a few times, face slowly tinging red. Digging in further, Cuphead pressed “I mean, you saw my memories didn’t you? You _know_ I ran into him, there’s no way I wouldn’t have! Surely you’d have spotted your sibling in them? Where is he?”

“On his roller coaster, as always!”

“You sure?” From the font of the theater came Bon Bon’s voice. She had her hip cocked out and a lone, perfectly shaped eyebrow arched exactly high enough to convey just how amused she was with the situation. Her shotgun tapped her shoulders. Sally’s lip curled in distaste.

“What, you saying I’m wrong?”

“Ha! I’m not creepy! Yes!” Cuphead cheered, doing a little celebratory dance. Bon Bon snickered. “Liar, liar pants on fire!” He shouted at Sally. The replica’s shoulders shook just the slightest. Sally moved to throttle him but a loud shot rang out and a lollipop narrowly missed her nose.

“Come on Sally, where’s our resident squeaky-toy?” The Goddess of Hearth and Home called out, teeth bared in a vindictive grin.

“Like you know! He-“

“I heard someone say squeak, who called!”

Sally shrieked as her brother landed on her, sending her to the floor in a heap. He looked down, tiny umbrella in his hand snapping shut with a click. He looked at Cuphead, then at Sally, then at the replica.

“It’s Replimug!” He declared, snatching the prop from Cuphead’s startled hold. “Oh this is perfect! That other one was all mopey and being a Sad-Sally. Djimmi’s gonna owe me!” Beppi crowed, spinning in a circle, still on his exasperated sister’s back. Bon Bon jerked her head towards the exit when Cuphead looked at her. He hopped off the stage, gaining a smile when it didn’t stop him. He trotted over, listening to his Domain grumble irritably at the woman shouting up a storm on stage.

He did pause at Bon Bon’s side though, shuffling a bit. The goddess noted the fists curling and uncurling at his side.

“I’m not…it’s not really like that…is it? And that mason jar thing?” He looked up at her, cherry-red eyes nervous. She huffed.

“That was a brother being mad that someone else was infringing on sibling rights. Only siblings can freely insult and hit the other, should another try, death awaits. For that other thing? Hell no. Rule number thirty-two, never take anything those two up there say to heart. They’re always putting on a show. Go on. You’ve still got to get past Hott. Don’t worry about anything else other than getting to your brother. We’ll take care of her, and if we can’t, you can do it with Mugman in tow.” Then she turned her attention to the siblings on stage.

“It’s Debbi-Downer, not Sad-Sally!” She shouted, moving down the center aisle, exasperation clear.

Cuphead, unable to keep his smile down, did as told and ran off. The replica watched, cool smile on its face.

====-====-====-====-====

“Look, Inkwell? I uh… We…--”

“Cagney you root bastard!”

“Rumor!”

“Just where have you been huh? Your dear sister needed your damn help and what do I get?”

“I was being…whatever happened in there…slapped until I spat out sense!”

“Excuses! That’s sure not happening now!”

“Rumor p-please! We’re trying to beg forgiveness from one t-testy brat, we don’t need you adding to that list!”

“ _The hell did you just say to me you layer-having ass motherfuc—”_

_“_ Wow, and I thought Wally’s efforts were pathetic. Good to know the grovel-brigade is so astoundingly useless!”

“Hilda! Done with Djimmi?”

“Yeah, we laughed, we cried, we apologized, the whole shebang. Any luck?”

To answer, a rock nailed a glowering Cagney in the head, conking him square on the forehead. He shouted, flailing his arms wildly. Hilda looked at the ground, and sighed.

====-====-====-====

“How many damn mortals were on this ro—” Cagney, Hilda, Djimmi, and surprisingly enough, Weepy, _squinted_ at Psycarrot. He held his hands up defensively.

“How many wonderful, _lovely_ mortals whom I cherish greatly…do we have on this—” A rock nailed him on the back of the head.

He grumbled into the dirt.

The mortals, the axe, the canteen pilot, Mac, and more, quietly watched, jaws picking daisies by their feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, I didn't forget the second half. I did only Cuphead's side on purpose. 
> 
> The way I see it. One brother is real good at keeping his emotions generally in check. The other is a walking time bomb. Hilariously enough, I see Cuphead has the more emotional one. The one to cry at the movies while stuffing his face with various candies while his sibling slyly passes more boxes his way just to see how long it'll take for either the sugar rush or the stomach ache to hit. Mugman will be maliciously compliant, Cuphead will just punch you in the kidney, he ain't gonna act in no stinkin play.


	20. Express Yourself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cuphead can be such a pain sometimes. 13 pages of being a pain....

The bridge spanned ahead, stones crumbling and loose. Cuphead sprinted across, broad grin so wide it almost hurt his cheeks. He could see it, the cave that his brother had either found refuge or was being held. If he was finding refuge, Cuphead was going to hug him, and midway though the hug, he was going to bring up the dress and drive in theater. If it was a capture situation, he was going to beat the tar out of anyone in there, and _then_ hug his brother and bring up the array of things Mugman had done. Starting with the dress of course. The best part, to him, about not knowing who was older, was that he could rightfully claim it was his job as older brother to tease his little brother. Or if he was the younger, it was his job to annoy his older brother.

Not even sliding a soul-stopping three feet on his heel while he tried to stay upright after hitting a nasty puddle of fog soup could wipe the excitement from him.

The train, however, made a damn good effort.

The second he stepped on the ground beyond the bridge, the thing came roaring out from the tunnel. The front of the train had a face, one scratched and shredded until gears flashed underneath grasping clawed hands. Wailing souls forced the whistle, howling with it as fire—an odd reddish-gold—blazed to the heavens in its firebox. The track appeared mere feet ahead of the heavy steam engine, rising as if pulled from a lake of bones. It almost seemed to flash across the clearing, leaning heavily in his direction as a few of the souls spotted the porcelain child staring slack-jawed at them. Then it was gone, back in the tunnel. The rest of the cars vanished equally quickly.

For a moment, he thought he had spotted faces in the windows, but he wasn’t feeling all that up to waiting for it to return. Without further delay, he headed for the cave, steps quick and bouncy with eager anticipation.

Hours on end of being surrounded by hostility, mixed with a Domain basically giving him a play by play of attacks, had never been so handy.

He threw himself back, coming back up in a quick roll right before the train reached where he’d been standing. He’d thought he’d have plenty of time to clear the thing, but any time he tried to step past the track area, it would appear. He simply wasn’t able to so much as put a toe on the line. The last straw was right about when one of the many grotesque faces on the bubbling mass attached to the head of the train _grinned_ at him.

These things were not only possessing the Phantom Express—which, rude—but also, and this is what _really_ irked Cuphead, they were keeping him from his brother. His goal went from wanting to get past the train, to wanting to board it. Only, it moved _insanely_ fast. It definitely warped, there was simply no other way it was going the speed it was without that. Nor was there any other reason for it to keep appearing so quickly. He stood there, watching the train go by a few times, chin in hand, _thinking_. Luckily for the boy with zero ideas, someone else on board had indeed spotted him at the side of the train.

On the next pass, hands shot out, dragging him on board without him even getting the chance to realize what was going on.

====-====-====-====

The caboose was, surprisingly spotless. Cuphead had to admit the train itself was rather nice on the interior. He could see why people would prefer the Express rather than the screaming banshee that was his sister. But that didn’t really explain why an eyeless ghost was now speaking a mile a minute at him with wildly waving hands flying about, nearly knocking into him. He tried to give them the benefit of the doubt, but when the fella just started weeping loudly, he gave up.

“Okay, so, I’m going to leave you here, I got a score to settle with the crowd up front. If you don’t—no don’t cry louder!” He balked, beating a hasty dash for the door while the ghost babbled nonsense. As the door slid shut, the ghost waved him off with a hanky.

Now that he was on the train, it was almost impressive how loud everything was outside the cars. The void around him felt suffocating, like it was enraged he’d left that car. Without much of a pause, he opened the next door. If he was a tad impatient, he dared anyone to blame him.

====-====-====-====

No, nope, this car was worse. The few in here were all screaming at one another, shouting hysterical nonsense. Cuphead’s face went deadpan, amusement at an all time low. He _just_ got out of one loud area, he didn’t want to go right back into another one. Especially not when he was so used to quiet, even when he was back on the mainland. They all seemed to be looking at a pile of ash that still flickered with golden embers. He strolled over to it, casually, because he wasn’t keen on scaring the people in the car any more than they apparently were.

Something about it felt familiar in a very old way. Like he’d always seen something like it, and it was entirely normal. A wave of nostalgia hit him, only it wasn’t his nostalgia. It was his Domain’s. He was confident he’d never seen such a thing before. All fire he knew was orange or red, not a bright gold. Still, if his Domain was happy to see it, it had to be something from the Domain currently offing his brother. He prodded at it with a boot, trying to see if moving anything would offer up an explanation. Of course, when the screaming abruptly stopped around him, he wasn’t too sure that’s what he’d wanted to have happen.

The young god looked up, noting how each and every soul was now staring at him in unmitigated fear.

“Oh skies above,” A woman, a pigeon, bemoaned. “Not another ruffian!” She waved her fan at him, not quite touching him, but giving him a nice breeze. He stared at her, neutral expression in place simply because his face wasn’t quite sure what to emote. “Shoo! Stirring up trouble like this! Why, just what do you think will happen! The engineer will surely have our tickets for Hell in hand for this!”

The other passengers nodded. One even ducking behind the rich seats just to avoid falling into Cuphead’s line of sight. He took a single side-step, then another, every so robotically moving away from the passengers. Following the aisle down, he tried to figure out just what they were so upset about. Cuphead had no doubt that his brother wouldn’t have hurt anyone that hadn’t deserved it, so whatever that ash pile was… Actually, when Cuphead thought about it, the thing had probably insulted his brother or tried being creepy. For all he knew his brother was still wearing that dress and it had made a rude comment about it.

He tried peeking into the sins of one of the ghosts, but got nothing, at least, nothing really pertaining to life on the train. Giving up, he let his head continue to face the rest of the train while his body remained forward, grabbing onto the handle. The mouse grimaced, rubbing their neck. He stuck his tongue out at her. If she—or any of them really—weren’t going to be helpful, he was more than glad to tease them. She gasped, pressing a hand to her chest.

He didn’t see anything else, darting out of car before anyone could _do_ much else.

In the void around him, he snickered and pat himself on the back.

====-====-====-====

The next car was luxurious. He was starting to have trouble matching the beast pulling the cars with the cars themselves. He tried to open a couple of the doors, but they refused to even budge. Not wanting to waste too much time though, he dropped it. He had far more important things to do. Like sprint down the small hallway into the main room.

There was no one else present on the car. Not unless there were souls lurking behind those doors he’d left. Still, he was expecting the train to be full to the brim, standing room only. With how long the train had been corrupted, he couldn’t fathom how it wasn’t near bursting with souls. Elder Kettle certainly made it seem like that was going to be the case. The book too had been quite sure. Since Chalice had been one of the first, if not _the_ first, Phantom had been suffering an amazingly long time. At least two centuries by his estimates. Elder Kettle hadn’t really gone into detail on any timelines, which, he bet had something to do with time feeling less meaningful when death wasn’t constantly walking beside him.

The car _did_ give him a small reprieve from all the noise, so he stayed for a few minutes, soaking in the soothing atmosphere. The train was nice, the rocking sensation practically disarming. He bet had his soul wound up on this car, he’d have been a limp puddle by the time his brother got to him. Then, his mind had a _thought._

Not a nice thought. A mean one, a nervous one, one that made him stare at the door to the next car without actually seeing it.

That fountain had said his brother was in Hell. The problem was, he didn’t know where the train was currently. For all he knew, he was looking at hell. A blank void full of nothing but endless echoes of wheels screaming along a track long abused. He felt a pit grow in his abdomen, curling uncomfortably enough to make him clench his fists. The fountain might have meant that his brother was _on_ this train. Or even lost out in that sea. He simply couldn’t bring himself to truly trust that weird shape shifting deity either. He knew well and good that people called Lady Luck fickle for a reason. That god might have been lying to him, or embellishing the truth.

Though he didn’t see any cages out in the void around him, the cars themselves certainly seemed gilded enough. Not only that, but there was no real way for his brother to get off the train unless something got it to stop. But then, standing in the void wasn’t helping either. Especially when he was holding a timer above his head with no ability to see the numbers flashing down. His brother was dying, or suffering, and just staring off into the void wasn’t going to help his brother any. Besides, he figured, yanking open the door, no matter what, he was going to find his brother. Whether his brother in blue was on the train or in that cave, he would find Mugman.

====-====-====-====

He’d never regret stepping into a car so much in his life. He gagged, stumbling back out into the void, already tasting bits of mold on his tongue.

“No.” He said, as if that would magically make the car change into a far cleaner version of itself. He _really_ didn’t want to go back into the car, but the idea of testing the safety of the roof was even less appealing. Then he opened the door again, got a wave of mildew in his face, and began to seriously consider car hopping. He looked over the side of the railing between him and the pit below. It looked as empty as the world around him, like the train was floating on nothing but the tracks it conjured up.

He didn’t quite fancy falling off.

The train hit a turn, and he only barely got into the car before his feet fully began to slide. He wound up smacking into the wall, internally screaming when the wall _squelched_. A puff of mold drifted insultingly before his face, settling on his clothing, and into his soul liquid. He’d never felt such an urge to clean in his entire life.

The car itself didn’t look much better. There was the kitchen area, with sounds of something shuffling around inside, and the dining tables ahead. Every single last thing was so filthy and rotted he’d bet his soul he could snap a table in half just by lightly hitting it. He didn’t feel like testing that though, not with how gross he already felt. The floor either crunched or squished under his feet, the people sitting in the cars looked dejectedly at their plates of rot, the walls alternated between oozing slime and flaking off mold. The seats themselves looked more mildew than cushion.

He sucked in a breath, instantly regret doing so, and proceeded to fast walk down the aisle. He’d run, but he wasn’t all that sure it was a good idea.

The kitchen door flying open, letting a freakish _thing_ out, proved him wrong.

It _wailed_ when it saw him, despite having no face. The people around him—who’d been eating rot but Cuphead was desperately ignoring that fact for his own sanity—shoved themselves into the wall or tables. Trying to become tiny targets most likely. In front of him were the remains of a plate and a table that had been messed up. Cuphead shot the thing without hesitation. He was certain it had gone after his brother if the mess was anything to go by. Even if it hadn’t, he’d still shoot it. The ungodly amount of loneliness pouring out of it was enough to make him uncomfortable.

The entire car felt like that, but it seemed to hover most strongly around the creature. Some part of him was hopeful that if he felled the creature it would repair the rest of the car. When the shot hit, and all it did was tilt its head to a neck breaking ninety degrees, he felt his soul sink.

_‘Run.’_

With the uselessness of his efforts confirmed, he ripped a table a lightbulb sat at off the ground and heaved it at the creature.

“Table for one!” He shouted as his feet backpedaled. It caught the table, sheering it in half with a single swipe of disgusting nails. Cuphead threw a chair, and made for the door as fast as he could.

Really, he should have expected the thing to knock aside the chair. He should. But he didn’t. So when flat out biohazard nails drove into the door, locking it in place and making him turn to face it, he screamed. Water pooled on the carpet, but didn’t fully cover the floor, looking patchy at best. The other hand speared his chest with little flair, as the thing leaned over him, void seemingly trying to peer into his soul and his eyes at the same time.

Crushing loneliness made his legs grow weak. He slumped on the door, still clutching the handle tightly. Images of the house, barren of everyone but himself flashed in his mind. Not a single sign of life, dust accumulating on everything as time began to move, ever callous to the world and its inhabitants. His soul pulsed, his Domain roared, and the lights burst.

“Come now! Where’s your innovation? Where’s your _desire_ to press on and find your mortal brother?” Came a voice behind them. He knew he should recognize the voice, what with it being from the single god to do the most damage to his brother. But when he’d heard the man speak, he’d fallen into a haze, so he didn’t feel too bad not recognizing it as Kahl.

“I knew I should have just returned to my workshop, this is purely pathetic! Crush the thing! You’ve got the strength, use it!” The God of Innovation cried out, punching his own hand to demonstrate. Cuphead blindly obeyed, swinging his arm out to knock the claws away from him. It sent the creature into the table beside him, ooze spraying out of torn flesh, splattering across the car.

“Oh now see, _that’s_ disgusting. Positively filthy, and I’ll have you know Hott will be hearing of this! Go on lad, I’ve got ideas on purging this car that simply _must_ be tested!” Kahl whistled, drawing the creature’s attention to himself. He stood by the kitchen doors, waving to it, ushering it towards him. “Come along now, the parts I need are in here, but what good is having the parts if the test isn’t even present? Do squirm your way over here, yes that’s right. I’d like to see how well you combat the things I’ve got in store!”

Cuphead, barely recovered but desperate beyond sanity to get to his brother, threw open the now free door into the next car.

Kahl turned back to the kitchen, eyeing the gas lines spilling freely into the air. He rubbed his hands together, lips sliding along his teeth as a smile he _simply_ couldn’t hold back grew into a grin.

====-=====-====-====

There on the floor were the remains of his brother’s own trek through that car. Cuphead spat out a chunk of mold, grimacing as the bitter loneliness began to wane. He sucked in clean breaths of air, letting his soul either boil away the filth or spit it out before it could stay on his tongue longer than necessary.

‘ _Countless souls, all varying in faults. So much that the bad negated the good and vice versa. I cannot cleanse that thing. It simply has to be burned away.’_

“Gross, gross, so gross, ohhh it’s slimy!” Cuphead pat down his clothing, thankful that the thing hadn’t sprayed goo on him. He didn’t think he’d handle ghoul soup any better than Mugman had handled corpse soup. The car he’d just left rocked suddenly, fire bursting against the glass. The entire thing seemed to bulge outwards as a silent explosion ripped into the car. Cuphead stared at the blackened glass, unsure of just what had happened.

When he faced the car before him, his next obstacle, the entire car was heatedly debating various things. He watched a woman give a man an empty fishbowl for two ornate buttons and a spatula. Then the spatula went to a weasel who offered a twig in return. By the time it got to a shovel trading a gardening glove he decided he didn’t want to know.

“Excuse me, pardon—”

“Oi! You can’t just shove your way through! I thought you learned that lesson—oh you aint that other kid…oh. Either way—”

“I will spit moldy soul liquid in your eye if you so much as _breathe_ in my direction.” Cuphead spoke plainly, staring at the hand hovering above his arm, zero emotion on his porcelain features. The person’s nose scrunched up, and their hand moved away. Cuphead plowed on ahead, politeness be damned. He ignored the surprised/angry/incensed/annoyed shouts and cries, eyes bright gold. His goal, the door grew ever closer with every person he pushed past. At one point he even picked a doll up and threw them back into the crowd. At least his strength wasn’t affected the way everything else was.

“Boy how rude! So unlike the other. At least he offered something in return.”

Cuphead paused, heel on ground, mid-step. He turned his head to observe the one who’d spoken. So many people had said that. So many gods had sounded genuinely upset he wasn’t the tiny little mortal easily stomped into the ground or thrown around. So many had compared him to his brother, but not even in a way he would have been fine with. He was tired of it. While he would have loved to see their reactions when Mugman became a god, he didn’t have the patience at that moment.

Mugman _had_ always been his impulse control…

“I know! My cutest brother is just so devious and smart and golly! Did he tell you about the scarf he knit for me that one time? Oh! He’s so nice too!” Cuphead _gushed._ He broke off into a full tilt _rant_. Those around him lost their disdainful expressions so quickly it looked painful. Cuphead clutched his hands together, resting his cheek on the back of one. “Why, one time he gave me his candy all because I got a crack, and then there was that time when he squashed a spider that had crawled on me and boy, the funeral he put together for the little thing was _swell._ ” A cat’s ears flattened as he shifted between stunned car denizens. “Why I could _sing_ praises about how good he is at getting Elder Kettle to get us stuff without a single lick of effort! He’s just the best!” His face changed, shifting to something _dangerous._ “And if I don’t get to him soon because some weird fish lady decided to try and whine about stuff that’s obvious, _I’ll make you eat your own scales.”_ His tone darkened, his eyes flashed, his hands clenched to tightly the porcelain creaked. The entire group between him and the door shifted not a second later, giving him clear access to the door.

He turned back into a chipper little cup. “Thanks!”

The car weakly wheezed, watching him yank open the door and practically skip into the next car.

====-====-====-====

It was a great thing Cuphead was already not in the mood for any more delays. The rage fueled battle going on before him practically mimicked his mood. There was a skeleton doing the most damage but he was all the way at the other end and Cuphead only caught glimpses of him. The car was shredded, stained with copious amounts of whatever ghosts had for blood, the floor was so slick he actually slid right into a wild punch.

It stunned him, but only for a short second, not enough to get another hit in. The crack on his face healed rapidly, not even stinging it healed so fast. He stayed near the door, holding onto the handle while the train rocked harder, made sharper turns.

The turns in the other cars hadn’t been fun either, but this was wild. The souls used it to their benefit, throwing wild swings, screaming impressive insults at one another. It was so loud he couldn’t even hear himself think. But, he’d dealt with anger before on the Isles. And these were individual souls, that much was obvious. Pointing at the closest foam-lipped woman, he took a shot. She collapsed almost comically fast. Her rage turned to pain, writhing on the floor, weeping cracked apologies in a voice long abused by screaming.

While not too sure how often he could shoot, he wasn’t going to try his luck at moving through the place. Hell, he wasn’t even sure how his brother had made it through. But he was absolutely certain Mugman wasn’t on the car, so, with nothing holding him back, he lit the place up.

It was almost sad how easy it was to blast his way through the crowd. His shots weren’t quite blue anymore, but red, scattering wide to cut down entire chunks of souls taking note of the new threat. He left a trail of agony in his wake, apologies and mindless sobbing replacing the anger in the crowd. He slipped a few times, using that to evade swings and counter the wild rocking. At one point he flat out kicked a short gnome in the face, using them as a springboard to clear over a particularly livid pile of souls.

The skeleton had taken notice of him, but, surrounded as he was, he couldn’t exactly talk to the god. He just crushed a ghostly spine and shouted, “Not a single one of ya will so much as _sneeze_ near Hott! Keep back ya boneheads! Back!” He hit another person so hard their head crunched into their torso, their neck turning to a paste. Cuphead instantly decided doing anything to anger the guy was the worst idea he could have in the current situation.

Between the two, it was quick work to knock the anger out of the teeming crowd, and Cuphead had never been so glad his magic wasn’t entirely useless. He just had to hope that he wouldn’t run into another one of those things from before.

“And just who are you?” The skeleton demanded, flinging the last soul into the packed mound behind them.

“Cuphead. I’m looking for my brother.”

“Which car?”

“Uh… He’s like me, but blue, has a bag…”

“Oh that one! Boy, he isn’t on the Express. We got him off before the ghosts could make Hott move. Course, since then they’ve been right bastards. Sore losers I tell you! There ain’t no way we’ll be able to wrestle control back a second time with them riled up like they are. Yer best bet is to wait and see if his Domain will spot you here and rescue you.”

“His Domain?” At least he didn’t have to worry about prematurely running into his sibling on the train. He wasn’t too sure that would have been a good thing considering the state of things.

“Yer brothers on the fast track to becoming a god, boy he was rough. Them ghosts trying to possess him sure didn’t—oh okay.” T-bone blinked, wide eyed as the young god lifted him up, put him to the side of the door, and with deliberate ease in his motions and murder in his eyes, he opened the door and pushed on. T-bone turned back to the crowd writhing in agony. Seeing as they likely wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon to try and join the gang manhandling Hott, he went about resting his weary bones.

====-====-====-====

The second the next car revealed yet another creature like the one he’d almost gotten crushed by, Cuphead slammed the door shut again. He ranted into the black pit around him, rather put off at the imposing obstacle now sitting in his way. He didn’t have time to just prance around playing tag with a creepy, gross clump of souls. But the memory of what had happened to the last one sent a cold bolt of fear down his body and he couldn’t quite bring himself to just open the door and go for it.

It wasn’t often on the Isles that he genuinely felt stuck, but with that thing moaning and sobbing in anguish in a cacophony of voices standing in his way, he wasn’t sure what he could do. So he paced on that short little space between trains, really just keeping one hand on the railing and tapping his feet if he was being honest. He couldn’t burn the thing, he didn’t have the—

He paused, eyes looking at the door, but not actually seeing it.

Then, a rather peculiarly smarmy grin sprang up on his face.

It felt like so long ago that he’d stopped by Elder Kettles old residence, but he distinctly recalled picking up a few things while there. If there was indeed one thing Elder Kettle had shown them, it was what happened to potions that had long since lost their stability.

The birds used the craters as nesting spots, the boys got to see impressive explosions, it was a win-win.

And now? It was time to detonate.

He pulled open the door, his shadow shot potions out like a rifle, nailing the thing with unwavering precision, and before the ensuing boom could hit, he closed the door again. He went into the last car, hoping to stay clear of things in case the car couldn’t contain it.

T-bone didn’t really have time to realize he was back before the entire train rocked violently. Even between the empty space, even cut off from the other car with the worlds best sound proofing doors, he could hear the boom.

It was glorious, it was powerful, and it damn near shattered the glass windows.

T-bone yelled at him. He did not care.

====-====-====-====

The other car was still there, but it was warped, bent, and no longer smoothly running. It let out an obnoxious screeching noise as the wheels that had been broken or warped by the explosion scraped against the rails. Cuphead pulled open the door, having to really work to make it open as the frame had bent. The thing wasn’t present anymore, but there wasn’t any proof that it had gone boom as well. So either the potions had vaporized it, or it was now hiding in some squashed compartment to lick its wounds.

Cuphead couldn’t quite bring himself to care. It wasn’t in the aisle anymore, it wasn’t in his way anymore, so he could just push on. He’d apologize later, probably after being scolded by Mugman. He’d be fine with that, but if Chalice tried getting huffy for the violent redecorating, he was going to throw her into the remaining potions at that house and run for it.

The car was scorched beyond recognition, the beds blackened crisps on distorted metal frames. The epicenter of the explosion was heavily dented. Cuphead thought the new sunroof rather added to the general feel of the car now. He hopped over the deep crater on the floor, a skip in his step as he pressed on uninterrupted. He added this to the list of things he was going to tell his sibling later, which he was sure would lead to the scolding, but not before getting a laugh.

Even more exciting was the fact that he heard the roar of the engine not too far ahead, The twists and turns were less rough as well, a sure sign he was close to his goal. He wasn’t quite sure how he was going to deal with creepy ghosts, but at the very least he had to try.

The train rumbled on, exerting more effort now that one of the cars was damaged. Its ghostly whistle pierced the void surrounding it.

====-====-====-====

There was so much luxury in the car, Cuphead felt like knocking over a vase just to feel less out of place. Oh he had plenty of gold on him, but it was nothing like the silks and satins and leather surrounding him. The air alone felt richer than even Rumor’s place. There were high-class passengers as well, all merrily conversing about something he couldn’t really make out.

Cuphead shuffled closer, pausing by the bathroom when his reflection caught his eye. Flushing red, he hastily used a pristine towel to scrub his face clean of the grime that had accumulated on him. His clothing, somehow perfectly clean, if a bit scruffy here or there with age, wasn’t any of his concern. He couldn’t really do anything about it anyway.

Using the bathroom to shake off his nerves, though he wasn’t sure quite where they came from, he exited, ready to powerwalk to the other car.

As he got closer, the words became more clear.

He stood, shoulders shaking in his frantic attempt to bite back a hysteric cackle.

“Oh I do hope that little dear managed to find his way. And goodness did we ever dress him proper!” One gleefully clapped her hands together.

“Of no doubt! I bet he dazzled whoever saw him next! Such good work you did!”

Now, it wasn’t quite the odd chatter that had him holding his breath in an attempt to keep from laughing out loud, it was more the fragments he could see. Their memories were chipper, almost upsettingly so considering the place they were residing in at the time. But he didn’t care about them denying everything around them to unbelievable levels. He cared about how mortified his brother looked. His porcelain matched his eye color it was so blue.

He lost it, unable to withstand the sight.

The car denizens gasped or jumped or shouted their surprise. They furiously whispered to one another as Cuphead tried to control his chuckles, glancing at him before quickly looking back at their fellow train riders. He wiped a tear from his eye, feeling much better now that he’d gotten some form of reprieve from all the happenings on the train. That, along with the explosion, he felt ready for taking on the thing ahead.

“Goodness! A relative perhaps? Much more cheerful he is!”

“Far less polite too! But he is quite young, I can’t bring myself to blame him. Good child, what’s amusing?”

Cuphead wheezed, barely getting understandable words out enough for them to catch on that they were indeed talking about his brother. They cheered, eagerly urging him to share stories. He was sorely tempted. He wasn’t quite sure just why he felt such a powerful desire to just sit down and regale the car with all the stories of their younger years. It would be nice to relax, he’d have plenty of tales to tell just from the Isles alone.

In fact, he almost did sit down. But his Domain snapped at his heels, forcing him to quickstep towards the door before he could even apologize. Understanding dawned on him, and, after throwing a quick wave to the crowd, he was off, promising to try returning later with brother in tow. He wasn’t sure of the rules of deities boarding the train, but he’d find out later. He was far more interested in getting away from whatever was making him feel like using the riders to shut out the fact that he had no idea what he was going to do when he did reach the front of the train.

====-====-====-====

It was _loud_ out in the void. The engine had to be right beyond the car he stood at. He couldn’t even hear himself think, much less anything else. Wanting to get away from the head-splitting noise, he hurried into the next car, curious to see what was in it.

The other cars had all been rather colorful in the crowds they sported, but this one wasn’t near as opulent as the rest. It had only two people in it as well. Two twins attached to the train itself, laying limp on the floor, weakly whispering to one another. They looked rough around the edges, like someone had just put them through five rounds with the victory twins back on Isle one.

“Uh, Hello?” Cuphead called out, wondering if these were workers, they painstakingly turned just enough to see him, and no further, evidently too tired to do much else. He waved, trotting forward, now sure they were workers. They didn’t react much to his approach, not seeing him as much of a threat.

“Another one.” One said, voice hoarse.

“Think this one’ll put the nail in the coffin for those rats ahead?” The other scratched, exhausted beyond caring.

“Hope so, or he’s not getting off. Never thought brakes would break us.”

Cuphead stopped next to them, patiently waiting for them to explain, hoping he could use their story time to come up with a plan.

“Maybe he won’t? Awful fiery ain’t he? There ain’t no way he’s gonna cool things down in the hot box.” They didn’t seem too keen on saying much more after that, closing their eyes in tandem. Cuphead waited around for another minute, just to be sure.

With no other information forthcoming, he reluctantly walked towards the other end of the car, seeing the engine just outside the glass.

“Good luck!” One called out, coughing painfully after doing so.

“You’ll need it!” The other shouted, face scrunching up in agony afterwards. Cuphead nodded, mind racing. The door slid open, and heat forced him to close it immediately after. He blinked rapidly to get his eyes to stop watering. If the air alone was so hot, he had no clue at all how he was going to get out there, fight a bunch of ghosts, and not boil over before besting the angry hoard.

_“Get creative! Come on! You make me embarrassed to know I share a Domain with you!”_

Cuphead flinched hard enough to bang his shoulder into the door, frantically looking around for the goddess of oceans.

“ _What do you do with fire? You put it out! Look, I’ll even help you. Be thankful.”_

Nervously grabbing the handle again, he took her for her word, threw open the door, and stepped into the rage-fueled inferno.

====-====-====-====

Water trickled, then dripped, then rained, then poured down him, seemingly coming from nowhere. It steamed up almost immediately, but the steam condensed unnaturally once it reached the tender. Drops of familiar dark water drenched the writing mass inside, causing it to flail and hiss. Countless eyes snapped open, searching for what was assaulting them.

Cuphead almost slapped his forehead.

Sure, the mass was disgustingly wiggly, and the eyes were unnerving, but he’d seen so much so quickly, and really, compared to the things back in the car, it wasn’t as frightening. While it was, in fact, a writhing mass, and while he couldn’t quite bring the train into his own world, just as he couldn’t bring Sally into it, he still had other options. Especially since they weren’t a combined mass. He could see each individual soul, full of too many negative emotions to keep count. If that other car was anger, this was pure, undiluted _wrath_.

But Cuphead had a few things that ensured he’d be able to match that wrath. He saw them dragging his brother, mauling the Express, tearing apart the workers. Saw them greedily try to pull another victim onto the train, unaware his brother wasn’t as easy a target as they’d assumed. Cuphead didn’t have wrath to match them. He was sure he _could_ get that mad, but it would take a long time, and he wouldn’t have held it for more than a day at best. What he _did_ have, was all the indignation of a sibling watching someone else beat up their brother. He had the spite of a god, fueled further by the fact that many simply didn’t have that much of a reason to be upset about being dead. They were pitching a fit for no reason, and certainly nothing enough to excuse dragging the rest into their tantrum. He also had the mischievousness of a child far too eager to ruin the day of countless souls so used to getting their way.

Water began to flood the compartment. He was absolutely certain had Cala not been helping him, it would have taken far longer. Her aid was sorely needed, and brutally effective. The water, the moment it traveled down the wriggling mass into the firebox, sizzled, but didn’t slow down. The mass lunged for him, lashing out in the only way they were familiar with. The feather on his back blazed, and his shadow snapped at them, forcing them back with malicious ease.

Evidently, he wasn’t the only spiteful one.

The water continued to rise, somehow kept in the tender box, burning away the sins the mass had accumulated in their time alive and tormenting the train. The train let out a whistle, which, oddly enough, sounded confused.

Cuphead tilted his head, and a waterfall crashed into the pool, a tidal wave rising from the influx of water, drowning the numerous souls, dragging them down into the depths to be devoured, or whatever happened to souls like this. He wasn’t too sure, but they didn’t rise back up, and that’s all he cared about.

“Well slap my bones and call me Betsy! You’re actually doing it! Hott! Fella’s, get over here!” Cuphead turned his torso, glancing back at T-bone who stood at the open doorway. The engineer looked so relieved his bones shook with the power of the emotion. The twins draped over his shoulders, sharing a silent conversation between themselves. The ghost too, floated behind T-bone, too nervous to leave the car, but glowing with hope.

“All this time, and we coulda just tossed a bucket of Specter’s tears on it… I told you it was something simple.” One brother said aloud.

“No you didn’t! You thought someone would steal Chalice’s spear and stab everything!”

“Yeah, simple!”

“That is _not_!”

Brakes squealed, Cuphead stumbled, boots sliding along smooth metal. He was caught by T-bone, who kept him steady all while ordering the brothers to do their job. The brothers winced.

“Holding him back so long really did a number on the brakes. Hott’s going too fast for us in this state. We’ll wind up shredded and on bedrest for weeks if we try that now.” One reluctantly explained.

The mass roared, squeezing into the tender, bent on grabbing the child before they lost their grip on Hott. The whistle blew again, surprisingly apologetic in tone, though Cuphead wasn’t too sure how he could tell that. The water pressed it back, keeping it at bay, now at Cuphead’s hips had he been in the car with them. It wildly splashed around with the movement of the ghosts, but never drained from the car. Though Cuphead wasn’t too sure how it did that, he didn’t really care. Knowing what he did about magic thus far, it was probably something to do with the tender more than anything else. He was tempted to open fire, but he wasn’t certain that would help. So he stayed beside T-bone and the rest, water flooding from his head to speed up the process even more.

“I’ll wear a maid outfit the whole time I’m caring for ya, just _hit the damn brakes before Hott sparks more heat for the furnace._ ” T-bone roared over the sound of countless souls wailing and snarling and screeching. The car directly below them engaged the brakes, sparks flying from below in a shower of heat. The water pressed on, drenching the firebox, turning it from a vivid inferno to a bright heat, down to a blazing fire, then cooler still. The cars further on snapped their brakes on, aiding Hott in his efforts to slow down for the seond time in centuries. His sides glowed with residual heat near white hot. The void filled with light as the tunnel entrance appeared in the distance.

“Owww!” One brother cried, the other clenched his teeth together so hard they almost cracked. Specter flew past them, calling out to Hott, splashing water onto the sides where he could reach.

“That’s it Hott! Try and chase them over here!”

A whistle, loud and long answered him.

“No! The brother of another god, he’s helping! Oh Hott, he’s helping!” Specter snatched a stray tendril trying to get back into the fire box, shoving it into the water, baring his teeth at it. The brothers were too busy trying to keep the brakes from breaking, staggering them in an effort to reduce the strain but still slow the cars down. T-bone made sure nothing got close to the source of the water. Cuphead could feel his bones tremble where they tightly clutched him, keeping him steady even as the cars slammed into one another.

In a way, he was sure Chalice would have been best suited for handling her possessed brother. He had no doubt she’d have been able to free him entirely from their hold with minimal effort. But she hadn’t. She’d corrupted, falling from grace to such a degree people feared her more than they feared death. He sort of wished she was there so she could hear how pitifully Hott cried while he was brutally purged. They essentially drowned the Phantom Express, destroying the fire box and likely tearing into his soul. If there was one thing he was thankful for, it was that when the world darkened, no longer held back by the void, then when the scales appeared, grand and gleaming, it was going to help the train better than anything else they were doing.

The scales rose high into the air, just as they had before, water pouring from the plate where Hott sat. The workers were noticeably worried, trying ask questions without insulting him. At least he figured that was the case, he bet they thought he was either helping or hurting Hott, and since they couldn’t tell, they were simply going the help route. He was fine with T-bone gripping his arms tightly, even with the brothers nervously wondering where the rest of the cars went. He was more focused on the Scales. The feather on the other side was a soft white, glowing delicately in the gloom. Once it came to rest just above the other scale, the thing began to shift.

This time however, there was something different. Hidden in the shadows of the world, barely seen if not for Hott’s headlight catching it when the train turned to look for his crew, was a single dog. Black fur, golden ears, golden eyes, and a collar similar to his own. It sat at the very edge of the area, regarding the scene almost clinically. He couldn’t see a single hint of emotion on it beyond an ear twitching when the scale began to dip. It vanished before the judgement was brought out, but another flicker of movement, and a cat sat perched on the top of the scale, eyeing the remaining souls clinging to Hott, pulling the scale down with their combined weight.

The cat glanced at him for a single breath, then it was gone, just like the dog. Also gone, or separated, were the souls once in Hott. They sat, wreathed in fire, burning away. The golden blaze didn’t let off much of any light, not like it had before, nor did it let off any heat, since the water below didn’t react at all. It looked weak, just enough to chase the thing out, force it to try and run, slipping off the side of the scale. It splashed down, and sat on the surface for a deceptive minute, batting the flames away. It looked up, countless bloodshot eyes piercing the darkness, glaring at the rest of them.

No matter how many times Cuphead saw his Domain, it never ceased to entertain him.

The blob wiggled towards them, got an inch, and then was devoured rather gloriously. Hott, however, remained safe on the Scale, no longer sinking without the added weight, but going back up. It stopped once equal with the feather’s side, and everything returned to normal. Except they were back in that clearing. Specter pat Hott, whispering comforting nothings having been the closest to him when the world came back.

The rest joined immediately after, sparing only a quick, near worshipful thanks to Cuphead. Cuphead wasn’t offended, cold dread building in him. The fire hadn’t been there before that cat had appeared, and that dog didn’t look normal either. But nothing else should have been able to go near the scales, not without being devoured. He wasn’t sure how he knew that was the case, chalking it up to knowledge about his Domain coming faster the more he used it and got used to it. Either way, those creatures being there, even for a short time, meant bad things for his brother.

With no other barriers between him and the cave, he rushed forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end draws ever closer. See I don't wanna treat you all like you're dumb the way a lot of books do now. What with them explaining everything in detail, giving you no room to interpret things as they are. But! In case it wasn't clear. If Cuphead is in someone elses realm, he can't over power them. Not only is he far too young, he's just not experienced enough and his Domain can only do so much before it risks overloading him.  
> And each car does indeed have a certain theme.  
> Oh gee, gosh, golly, wasn't there a sorta...something at the cave entrance? Like, an invisible wall of some sort...


	21. Intermission Inkwell Isle Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y'all better freaking appreciate this. I say as I stare at the word document, staring at the 31 pages I had to edit.

A young Rumor had always had a fascination with creation. She loved watching her siblings come into the world. She would stray from the rest to watch the other creatures in the forest she was born in wander about. It wasn’t that she loved children, though that was what her family and friends tended to go with when speaking about her. No, She didn’t love children any more than she loved the elders or the adults or anything else. It took her a few years of the habit, while she was watching a fox pounce on a rabbit that was far too slow while the other rabbits sprang to safety, to figure out just what she truly loved watching.

Rumor wasn’t morbid, not by any means, she wasn’t in love with death at all. She didn’t fear it, certainly not. But she _did_ love how life was affected by death. She loved to see those same rabbits later on, with children quicker than others. Or the birds who had quieter wings surviving in the winter while the louder ones died from starvation. She loved watching how life changed because of death, loved even more how random it seemed to be, with nothing really dictating what was going to come out next and work. She loved it.

Her other passion was fighting. To go hand and hand with her love for life, she loved the rush of battle when defending the hive. Where many in her family preferred working files and pushing papers, she loved the thrill of hunting down threats. The first time she learned about magic was what she considered the true start to her life. Later on, she’d admit that it also became her downfall.

====-====-====-====

Magic was a whole new beast for her to learn and handle. Elder Kettle helped her once or twice when he happened to be in the area. But Rumor believed firmly that she couldn’t rely on others for aid all the time. Even on the battlefield, when facing off against more enemies than she thought she could handle, she refrained from calling out for help. She came out of battle with more scars, but that paled in comparison to her building _need_ for _more. More to make her better, faster, **stronger.**_

That might have been the thing that set her up for failure. Much like the rich man strolling down the street, believing he has no worries, all while muggers wait, eager for whatever he has, however they have to get it, wait in the alleys. She grew so strong, so powerful, she took down her own queen. She ascended to the throne in a bloodbath. She had seen the old queen falter, had seen her slip one too many times. And as she’d seen life outside the hive—and even inside of it—do, she axed the weaker woman, crushing her skull in with a single swing.

Confident she couldn’t be beat, not with her magic, nor with her weapons, she easily carved a new niche for her hive. She spent months enhancing it, building it up, making it the top hive in the entire continent. She stood proudly at the top, but her love for life kept her in the good graces of those who would have posed a threat. It was yet another test for her to try out. To see if their adoration for her would change anything in how they survived. She loved it, she couldn’t get enough.

====-====-====-====

One fine day in her rule, a worker brought to her a gift. A fine book of spells pilfered from the very home of Elder Kettle. They’d managed to swipe it when he was fixing them a potion. Really, everyone knew the god of wisdom had simply let the worker have it. Ever eager to share the wisdom he had that one.

She took it, completely willing to grow even stronger. But the book had magic she’d never seen before. Magic she hadn’t even heard of in any of the other tomes she’d gone through. This did little to make her pause, it didn’t even make her nervous. She charged into it with aplomb even. When a voice in her head warned her she was going too far over her head, she ignored it.

None of them could have foreseen her being torn to pieces by a magic that disagreed with her confidence. They didn’t even notice she was gone until she failed to appear for the evening meeting.

====-====-====-====

When Rumor next woke, she was surrounded by so much life she was left breathless twice over. In fact, that was how she discovered she didn’t need to breathe at all. A voice, the same that had warned her, laughed warmly at her reaction.

She promptly challenged it to a fight.

It welled up inside her, and made her tear her own arms off.

She fell in love once again.

It held the same feeling that watching life go about obeying death’s choices. She wore her new crown as Goddess of Life and Fertility with just as much pride as her previous crown. Creating things that left her brother stumped or eager to outdo her.

She and Cagney changed the appearance of the entire world, building up new species, bringing back ancient ones simply to see if they’d fare better now. Deserts sprang up with colorful oddities, tundra’s bloomed with rugged life.

Her proudest moment was bringing back the bones of a massive beast easily ten times her old size. It had a long neck, scales, and ate _so many trees._ Cagney grumbled about it for a while, then it died to one of her many other experiments with the specs of life crawling all over everything in the billions. The fact that it had turned purple was still one of her greatest unanswered questions.

But of course, as a Goddess, her duties didn’t just stick to one task here or there. She would stand at the side of birthing beds, coaxing new mothers through their rough births. She cooed over the frail little sprouts Cagney pridefully displayed to her, she cared for all manner of life. But, she never got in the way of the Phantom Express or Chalice.

Sure, her and Chalice didn’t quite get along—and Cagney would cackle when she said it like that, teasing her refusal to admit she’d once fought Chalice and lost so spectacularly, her own Domain had to step in. They didn’t see eye to eye—to which Rumor would lean down just the slightest, obviously showing off just how much taller she was to the smaller goddess. But Rumor understood the need to rely on the gods of death.

Without them she couldn’t get the results and observations she wanted. So she made pains to step aside when Chalice or a worker from the Express stopped by.  Though, she wasn’t above trying to fend them off for the ones with better chances of survival. Sometimes they simply needed a spot of magic, a dash of help, and she was plenty willing to abide by her Domain and give them what they needed. She loved her new life, loved how her old methods in the hive only grew more useful in the world. She felt near unstoppable.

Then, came the day she came to the side of a fox writing in birthing pains while the woman’s husband desperately tried to encourage her, comfort her, do everything he could to ease her agony. She could tell flat out the woman wouldn’t survive, like many before her. Rumor, heavily worshipped goddess that she was, well, she was quite busy. Without waiting for Chalice or the Express, she reached out, and crushed the skull of the fox, just as she had done to her old queen.

Oh, how the husband had wailed, had sobbed, had _screamed._ Chalice had been forced to pin him to the wall just so she could shove the soul onto her siblings’ carriage.

It only grew from there. She lost the desire to try and see if she could coax an extra spot of life from mothers that weren’t doing what she wanted. She even rambled to grieving mortals after destroying their loved ones entirely. Which meant she simply didn’t understand _why_ people were begging her to _leave._

No one wanted her at their side anymore. She wasn’t just a warrior of course, she was a queen, and she had run a hive to perfection. So, she’d sat at her grand temple, and graciously opened her doors to the mortals, to listen to their reasons. They’d said such odd things, claiming she was no longer a sign that things were going well, that she caused more grief than the Express ever could.

She sat, stumped entirely, on her throne. Then her brother had come in, crying about how his beloved plants had been torn and warped into hovels for the mortals. She’d instantly taken pity on his pleas. Cagney wasn’t much of a warrior, not as much as she was at least. He’d always been the sort to smash something and be done with it, but with so many mortals ruining his cherished plants, ignoring his demands for them to stop, well, she just _couldn’t_ ignore him.

She let the children run, the ones that were fast enough, that is. The ones that proved themselves, she let live. Her time as a goddess had warmed her more to children than ever in her life. She’d let them run, and some of the younger adults, telling Cagney that it was their best option for spreading the word.

“They, young that they are, will tell others what we told them to say! They’re good at repeating things you see dear brother.”

There was no real way for her to have known that the children, too scarred by her rampages, had either fallen silent or refused to speak of it at all.

So sure that their problems would be solved, she hadn’t expected to pop up on Inkwell one morning.

Oh, how she _raged_ when her wings carried her a laughable distance from the Isles. She ripped into her central home with viciousness that left even Baroness stunned. Mortals fell like flies around her. She’d continued to rage long after she gave up on crushing things.

Years passed, and her rage went from a bonfire, to a pathetic pile of ashes. She _yearned_ to return to what she had done once. Her Domain, once willing to warn her, now only teased and mocked her whenever it deigned to speak up. She’d lost any desire for revenge, having it replaced by a _need_ to return to her golden past.

She’d found a chance at understanding what she never had before, in one small little mortal, so tiny, she’d feared her guards had broken him at first. She’d seen the signs of the Baroness on him, had seen the drive in his eyes that she used to adore.

After he’d gone, and after she’d fed Kahl his own glasses, and then been ganged up on with no sign of her brother, she sat and took in his words. Then she wept as her brother made no efforts to find her. Then the other child had come in, a new god, so tiny she feared her tears would drown him if he got too close.

She now stood pouring every ounce of humble apologies she could into Inkwell. She spouted countless tales of what the gods had done with Inkwell back in the glory years, begging it to forgive them. Inkwell seemed almost blindsided by the unmitigated pleading, groveling, and outright ass-kissing the gods now did. Which, if she spared a thought to it, was funny. Her Domain sure thought it was. But spare thoughts were all held up by one thing.

She hadn’t crushed the tiny children. She hadn’t drowned them. That child who said he feared her, had chosen to trust she would protect him and save him from Kahl. He could have refused, or attempted anything that would have made his wounds worse and left him dead. But he’d trusted her, that _had to mean something._ She used that to keep her spirits high, that, and while she still had a goal of returning to what she once did. Now though, as she religiously observed the new life almost hidden entirely from her in the Devil’s home, she had another goal. Elder Kettle had _a number_ of things to answer for. She wanted answers, Baroness wanted _blood._

====-====-====-====

Kahl was a bright child. Always striving to find ways to do things more efficiently, or even just more elaborately. He built his first robot when he was only ten years old. The whims of a writer became reality under his hands. He found himself innovating things people had only idly daydreamed of. He took his city by storm, destroyed his fellow students in just about everything they threw at him. He wasn’t that creative, not without a spark to ignite his mind.

He took what others gave to him, and added to it, changed it, made it better, but he always needed a base. He would hate that he simply didn’t have the mind to create, but he was more interested taking what was given to him. He stayed in school for that reason, relying on the assignments and whims of those around him to give him the chance to build, to _innovate._ He fell for the sciences in particular. All of them intrigued him, all of them practically called to him, begging him to make them the best they could be, and more.

Years passed that way, until his hair began to fall out and his eyes needed glasses to see the near microscopic gears. He continued to build, make better, taking whatever he could from others. That might have been the reason he was murdered by an enraged teacher, furious he found success in a project they’d failed at time and time again. He would have been bitter about being shoved into a water heater that worked leagues better than the old machines, but really, he was more proud that his contraption had continued to work even as his flesh and fat boiled off into the pipes.

His Domain was one of the quieter ones, often simply tugging on his mind, pointing at things he could potentially make better. That too, he was fine with. He was particularly interested in making

Then he met his brother, and his brain as well as his Domain _took off._

The things the two created were stuff of legend. Werner would come bumbling in with blueprints piled high in his arms, spouting things in a language Kahl hardly understood. But the blueprints, he did. He took what his brother eagerly slapped on his table, and built it, expanded on it. Then the humans began to come to him, asking him to teach them, to show them, offering him their own ideas for payment. Flooded as he was with countless things, he couldn’t remember a time he was happier. Where he innovated and built up, his brother it a step further, building off of his things even further.

But mortals much as they tried, didn’t only bring peaceful things his way. To his brother, people brought ideas of war, well aware the man had an affinity for it. His brother in turn went to him with ideas, often exceeding the things mortals conjured up. He’d then build from it, make it greater. Then it would return to his brother and his brother would spot one of the enhancements and go from that, built up even more. The other sciences Kahl so loved began to atrophy.

Medicine began to crumble, medics struggled to keep up with the juggernaut spitting out weapons so powerful entire cities would be wiped from the planet. Where he used to take the things Rumor created and find ways to ruin her hard work, he used them to make the desired creation even more deadly. Mortals tried, he knew full well how they did.

So when he popped up on Inkwell after years of churning out destruction, he took back to biology. He began to break apart flesh instead of metal. If he was honest, he’d admit that he _was_ bitter about being locked away for doing what he’d been told to. Sure, he’d started adding things not asked for to weaponry and shields. He’d started to snub fellow innovators, finding their ideas pathetic compared to his and his siblings. But he wasn’t honest, he would rather do as asked than admit failure.

Cutting up a body was much easier than cutting up a robot, so he wasn’t all that put out. Still, with no other avenue for his inspiration, and with his brother hiding away in his hole, grumbling about this or that, he was stuck carving and building up the flesh or metal he could find.

Though he didn’t beg for mercy and forgiveness the way the others did, he and his brother sat, back to back, spitting out various ways to break free of the barrier. They’d done it before, but had been so focused on other things, their minds and their Domain’s had left them to grasp at straws. The visitors, the children, they stirred the pot.

The brothers would take once more, create once more, and once they were free—potentially and preferably before that blue child’s domain got out—they’d return to the mortals with so many gifts, so much innovation and creation, _everything_ would leap into a new age. Everything _except_ weapons and armor. They weren’t in the mood to repeat known errors.

====-====-====-====

Werner was a bit of a scrappy child. He was almost always cobbling together oddities that left his family scratching their heads. Sometimes the things he made were found to be cute, others less so. He didn’t think his mother, even dead as she was, had forgiven him for ruining her favorite dress. He _still_ stood by that the iron he built was better than the old thing she’d used before. He was an odd one, even he’d admit to it. Always rambling to himself under his breath, sometimes even cackling like a madman in the middle of the night.

His siblings used him to test out whether potential suitors were brave or not.

He may, _or may not_ , have cackled madly more often during dinner while building a fortress out of potatoes when they were around.

Werner was an odd child, a scrappy child, and a child who grew into an adult with all the same traits.

He continued to scare the tar out of his young little nephews. And sobbed into his plate when a little niece built a mini trebuchet to challenge his mini catapult at the table.

The older he got, the more creativity seemed to pour out of him. He was always talking the ears off of anyone—or any wall—that would listen—or was unfortunate enough to be a wall with no legs, and yes, Werner had indeed scrounged together a wall with legs.

He was crafty, using the paltry money his mother gave him, then the few coins he earned that didn’t go to food to getting material to build more. Of course, such limits only made him even _more_ creative. Though, he _did_ regret that his death had been the fault of slipping and falling on a tin can lid. The irony of it being that the can had been the last meal in his entire house.

Still, he took to the voice, his muse as he called it—and it didn’t care, it responded all the same—that came with being reborn, to further his own creativity.

He crashed his own funeral riding a metal horse powered by cheese.

====-====-====-====

Wild and scrappy that he was, his brother only made him worse. Finally in the presence of someone who listened to his rambling, even with limited understanding, and _listened._ He loved it. Werner gave the ideas, then took the new ideas made by his sibling, and made them better, made them more grand and able to stand on their own, without being a part of the original thing. He readily took to the mechanics of things, creating things that did a variety of things. From helping people, to making them scratch their heads, to blowing their heads up. He and Kahl did it all.

While he didn’t quite care for being stuck in one area of creation, his more wild Domain readily took up the challenge. He drafted up so many things he lost count of just what was his and what was Kahl’s. He found himself not caring, more interested in seeing how the armor he created took the hit of a weapon Kahl improved with only a scratch to show for it.

Really, if he was going to describe himself in terms of the other gods, he’d say he was neutral. When they started changing, he imagined all the ways he and Kahl would change, how they’d mutate into vile beasts mongering mayhem until the mortals were forced to lock them away in grand temples. He imagined having to wait a thousand years, imprisoned, for a champion to free them. He wondered if that champion would perhaps demand a battle, or demand they prove their worth as gods of the people. He would have readily accepted the fight, even if Kahl would just offer up rock, paper, scissors, or a game of cards.

He wasn’t exactly crushed when he found himself on Inkwell, stuffed into his old home with none of his grand inventions. He hoped the mortals were using what he’d left back at his temple. Bitter? Only enough to draft a few weapons of mass extinction here or there, but other than that, he was too busy trying to find inspiration. His brother was in the same boat, both so used to being asked to create a certain thing. Werner would admit he was a bit embarrassed he was out of practice in terms of just creating simply to create.  He grew angry at himself for a while at his inability to use what his Domain had once offered up readily.

His Domain, which atrophied from years of him choosing to make it focus on one single line of thought. It, unlike many of the others, wasn’t exactly mad at him, but it too struggled to reorient itself. Then came the problem once more of finding tools needed. No longer did he have endless access as he did when he became a god. Barely, just _barely_ he regret _not_ throwing mortals out when they started only bringing war to his door.

Okay he really regret it, he _knew_ a metal horse army powered by cheese was waiting for him back on the mainland, _and he couldn’t get to the damn blueprints._

With the air cleared, with the newcomers stirring up their innovative creativity with the stories the others had brought up in how they’d bested the far older gods, they now sat. Werner could feel his Domain, his Muse, tossing high-grade inspiration into the lake of ideas. Once it exploded, he would once more talk his brother’s ears off, and his brother, as always, would return it ten-fold.

====-====-====-====

Captain Brineybeard had been the best captain if he said so himself. His crew would also agree, but mostly because they loved how odd he was. Never one to dress himself to the nines if his ship wasn’t twice as grand as he, they found his attitude relaxing. None could truly say they were intimidated by him. They’d even rallied when he’d lost his second leg, tossing every cent they needed at the best medicine to be sure he’d survive the amputation.

His ship had _raged_ that day, utterly obliterating the enemy ship until the water turned red around them.

He proceeded to crack jokes about it every moment he could.

“Captain, could you give me a hand?” One newcomer would say, not realizing what he’d done.

“Now I don’ quite think I’ll be able ta’ pass tha’ over, but would ye settle fer a leg instead?” And he’d take one of his peg legs off, offer it to the flabbergasted newbie, and boisterously hoot in their face, mirthful more than ever. He fought for his crew, and in turn, they fought for him. Never once did they accept the mutinous ideas some newcomers would spread. Those, they tossed to the sharks. Though, the memorable one was finding a spy on their ship.

Brineybeard had decided he was perfectly allowed to send messages, but not by letter.

He survived four days tied up on the mast, above the crows nest before succumbing to the elements. Brineybeard had wondered out loud to his crew whether the spies employers had heard the shouting. He sure hoped they did, even if the man hadn’t really said much about his plans for the future.

It was a bit later after that that the voice in his head popped up, whispering to him, urging him to follow this route here, or that route there. He listened to it, believing it to be his gut finally getting more wordy. His crew accepted it of course, it worked, so they didn’t care beyond that. They were simply happy to be able to sail without fear of running aground.

Still, a pirate’s life was dangerous, and he couldn’t stay lucky. Brash and energetic though he was, a younger, faster captain of a law-abiding ship managed to cut him down. It was likely due to the voice distracting him at a crucial moment, at least that’s what he told himself.

He was _still_ proud he got to stab the youngster in the groin before dying.

It was the little things really.

====-====-====-====

When he next awoke, he found himself underwater, on his ship, which was also underwater, and more full of holes than the alibis he used to think up before he’d taken up the black flag.

Really, he would have been upset, but his ship had taken that moment to groan. His ship, not the crew, the ship. That kept his brain more occupied than anything else. Once he and the crew—“skeleton crew ye all be now! Haw haw haw!” “ _CAPTAIN.”—_ had fully sorted themselves out and taken stock of the situation, they proceeded to yell. The screaming was enough to fill the sea with a tidal wave of bubbles, they got nasty glares from the fish.

The freak-out lasted only long enough for a shark to eat the cabin masters left arm. That same shark now swam in the lowest part of the hold. They were nothing if not adaptive after all. The ship took that as the cue to breach the surface once more, like a whale that had had one too many barrels of rum, pitching violently as water tried to decide which way was best to abscond from the inner body.

Brineybeard’s ship took four days to fully repair itself, in that time they made sure to scare the ever-loving hell out of every single ship they came across, wailing like banshee’s and rattling their bones just because they could. It took another three days for his Domain to reveal itself properly to him, showing his god status off by letting him take a cannonball to the gut from a particularly feisty ship and heal it faster than the red-tinged water now flowing through his veins could hit the deck.

His brother had then appeared, and it was the first time he could remember getting genuinely nervous. Brineybeard wasn’t sure just _what_ made him nervous about his flash-tempered brother, but he was. His Domain waved his nerves away, proclaiming _that is your brother! That is our Wind, our guide! Hush, he will help you do what is needed._ Brineybeard chose to listen, and later, when he sat at Inkwell harbor, chained just the same as the rest, he’d regret doing so.

Before that though, they did indeed do well by the sailors who came to adore them. His ship, once a cause for fear, became a cause for loud cheers. Sailors crafted sea shanties for him and his crew—and if he blushed when he’d learned of that, he refused to admit it. He and his sibling, and sometimes even Cala Maria, became masters of keeping ships on the safest paths. Fearless as ever, he guided them through fog and storm to safety, steering his ship into the unknown without hesitation. His brother, flying high above, kept his course true.

====-====-====-====

When his brother had come to him one day, squawking rather annoyingly about how the mortals were trying to replace him, of course he’d gotten curious.  His Domain took one look at the sea charts, the compasses, the new methods of navigation they’d come up with, and cooed. Brineybeard himself had praised them to the stars and back, enchanted by the idea of using invisible forces to navigate instead of just the stars above. He recalled times when clouds shrouded needed skies above, leaving him and his crew to sail aimlessly until things cleared, rationing food and rum out for fear of starving.

He knew well and good that he was only one god, and while Cala and Wally _did_ do their own helping here or there, most of the time it was he who was called on. They left Wally to chasing storms away and Cala to soothing rogue waves. The two deities were loved, no doubt, but Brineybeard was simply trusted more. He liked to think it was his likeable personality.

It was really because the shanties his ship sang were so famously bright and loud and fun that fear simply wasn’t possible when they were there to guide.

And the puns.

====-====-====-====

He should have trusted his gut when it _really_ started warning him about Wally and the rest. Oh, how he _loathed_ how many sailors he found himself unable to save. He began to use the lookout _just_ to search for Cala or Wally when they started sinking more than saving. His Domain too, had wondered just what had gone wrong with their Wind. Water refused to speak to it as it once had about Cala. They were left adrift, staring at the broken remains of ships he’d desperately tried to lead to safety despite the other gods ruining his attempts left and right.

His ship went from guiding other to safety, to picking up the survivors and dropping the sailors off on shore like a watery version of Express. He couldn’t remember the number of times he’d tried begging the others to quit being jackasses. It was easily in the hundreds he was sure. Brineybeard still found workarounds, even with the odds stacked against him. He learned the signs, his crew got near perfect at catching sight of the other two before they could stir up trouble. He saved more, got more to safety, but it wasn’t enough.

He still wound up trapped on Inkwell.

He liked to think the mortals hadn’t really intended to put him there too. But the fact that he did, only made him fear he too had fallen to the corruption the others had. With no one but his crew to assure him, he spent the first twenty years desolate. He’d sat in his quarters, crushing his hat in his fists, trying to figure out where he’d gone wrong. Then he just went full on bitter towards his brother.

The fights Wally got into didn’t inspire him or his Domain to come to his rescue. They really only chased away the other deity when Wally Jr. started squawking up a storm. Or when Wally was one or two hits away from falling into regenerative slumber. Other than that, he used the betrayal he felt to keep the instinct to aid his sibling squashed under his peg legs.

Cala hadn’t taken his love for mortals kindly, she’d taken one of his crew from him, cursing her to remain in her rotted body, unable to board his ship at all. He’d blown her octopus pet to mist for that.

When the first mortal in a hundred or so years had popped up, he’d certainly noticed. His crew spotted the tiny boat, but he forgot about it quickly enough. He knew a few others early on had appeared on the Isles. They always wound up dead before even making it beyond the first Isle. So when his shipmate had told him of the mortal, and when Werner’s helpers had demanded he save the child as a way to repay his kindness, Brineybeard agreed. Werner’s helpers had _always_ been a bit…eccentric.

He hadn’t even hesitated, though he was shocked that the fragile little child had survived the likes of Kahl.

He had been so eager to help the boy, he’d forgotten about the other lurking below the obscured depths beyond the docks. Later on, he’d smack himself on the forehead for not just getting the boy off the ship before sailing to try and get her to follow rather than sail with the precious cargo aboard. He felt even more upset upon failing to protect the other one, deity though the red one was, he was so _tiny._ So fragile, he’d feared both now sat below the waves. But after the second time, he’d had to focus on repairing his ship, cursing Cala to the grave and beyond.

When she failed to respond, he’d ignored it, well used to her acting bratty.

Then water cheerfully informed his Domain she was being fixed. That she, and the rest, were changed once more. The God of Stars and Seafaring had been doubtful of course. He’d lost any hope the others would dig their heads out of their colons long enough to clear their eyes of the bullshit that had accumulated on them. Then he watched Sally chase Beppi through the town with her shoe held like a weapon above her head. Baroness loudly scolding her brother, threatening to make him into her next meal if he so much as _touched_ a single plate. He watched Grim honest to the stars _pout and agree._

He sobbed.

Loudly.

Not only did that mean that he’d never fallen the way the others had, but that there was now hope. He was a sailor through and through, and sailing around three islands got mind-numbing by the third go-around. He _wasn’t corrupted._ He wept to the point that a few of the other gods had come to check on him. His crew let them, entirely gob smacked by the change. When told that he might need to appeal to Inkwell, to help the others in getting the land to aid them in breaking the barrier, he agreed.

His crew dusted off the ol’ vocal cords—those that still had them—and they _sang._ If shanties had soothed before, perhaps, they thought, shanties could soothe again. At the very least, they could try.

====-====-====-====

Cala Maria started off tiny. She was the smallest of her fellow mermaids, which meant her personality made up for what her body lacked. She was a spitfire, notably turning her sister to stone for stealing Cala’s fish. Sure, her sister had broken free a day later, but by then she’d eaten four more fish, and thus, didn’t really care about the nasty glares she got from her sibling. The others found her silly, laughing at her vivacious personality. She was bright, she was rowdy, she was liberal with her gorgon blood.

Much like her family, she too didn’t linger in the depths of her home. Water didn’t bind them to their birthplace, and was even more content to let them do as they chose to those sailing around. Which meant plenty of stories about bringing down those unable to breathe underwater the way they could. Cala found it all too easy to snatch a sailor from the safety of their boats, drag them down, and devour them. She found it so easy in fact, that she began to formulate a way to make it more fun.

A game, one where if they could appeal to her, she’d let them live. Her first few attempts were pathetic. The sailors simply screamed and tried to flee. The nearby sirens flew over her, laughing at her odd failure.

She ate one later when it landed too close without noticing her.

The next attempts were better. Instead of springing up the way she had been, hair wild with snakes, skin green with malice, she appeared as delicately as she could. She bat her lashes at them, cooing sweetly. When they turned red in the face instead of screamed, she decided it was a success.

She then ate the one who shouted at her from the side.

Word must have spread she supposed, because soon even her fellow mermaids were being struck dumb by showered compliments given by sailors. While the others got over it after enough time, she did not. She _adored_ being praised, being called beautiful, being _worshipped._

Granted, when sailors began to put odd statues onto their ships, she and the others laughed instead of basking in praise or just eating the sailors. She could admit that she got distracted from her game just from the hilariously boxy fish stuck to name a single instance of many.

“How ugly that serpent is!” One sibling cackled, resting her upper half on a rock, her lower half lazily following the ebb and flow of the tide.

“But look at that one! A bland woman! And so childish!” Another proclaimed, picking her fangs clean.

“Now, it isn’t all that bad, why I’ve seen some majestic dragons! I even let one go for such a gorgeous portrayal of a harpy!” Yet another sighed, resting her head on her arms. The others, including Cala, squinted at her, lips curling up in disgust.

“I swear ever since that one sailor called you a…oh what did he say? A fiery haired goddess or whatever… You’ve been weird.” A fourth edged a few inches from the odd mermaid. Cala scoffed.

“Really? You? A _goddess?_ How silly!” She draped herself across a rock, resting her head on her arm, eyes sharper than the claws that scraped along the stone below. “It’s because you learned to mimic the sirens above. He must have been blinded by that screeching you call singing.”

She sort of expected to be shoved off the rock, she wasn’t disappointed.

====-====-====-====

While some other gods died in grand ways, Cala couldn’t really claim that much as she wanted to. She dared anyone to say she should have expected the great weight to drop down, and, caught in a current, drive deep into her throat. But she didn’t see it coming, so when someone did indeed tease her, she did more than push them off a rock.

She wasn’t quite sure when her Domain had decided it wanted a deity to represent it. She bet it had something to do with how the element enjoyed watching little boats float around on it. She didn’t really care, as long as she was alive again, and able to continue as she was. When told by her Domain that she was to do as the nature gods did, keeping the ocean life balanced enough to ensure Water’s other favorite things didn’t die out from the things on land hunting it barren.

She did as requested, mostly because that meant she got praised by the fishermen. Well, those that didn’t scream at her gargantuan size. For the first few years, that was more often than she liked. But mortals were nothing if not adaptable, so once she was determined to be less of a threat and more of an amusing oddity of the sea, the screaming died down.

Cala swam, exploring far more than she ever had when she was reliant on staying in areas with fresh food. She dove to the deepest depths simply because she could. She ran into her brother around her fourth year as a goddess, and found herself less than impressed, but not outright offended. Goopy was silly enough she supposed. She liked him more than she liked a few of the others that was for sure. Her least favorite had to be the deity of luck, if only because the shape-shifter adored outdoing her in terms of beauty.

She hated the other shape-shifting god as well, but he didn’t really show up around her parts that often, so while she didn’t like the furball either, she didn’t hate him more than the violet upstart.

One fine day, when slipping through the warm waters of a tropical region, she ran into the deity. Of course she was standing on the dock, perfectly poised to show off curves Cala knew damn well King didn’t care about having. Of course she was giving that all too familiar coy smile, but what _really_ irked Cala, was the glint of _mischief_ in those bright green eyes.

“There you are! Do forgive me, I had thought I’d run afoul of your presence earlier. I must admit it did take being right next to the thing to realize you _hadn’t_ been cut down to size and turned to stone by your own vanity.” The wench had called out, voice sending nearby mortals swaying rapturously.

“Just what are you yapping on about _this time._ ” Cala snapped, not in the mood for the other’s antics. King Dice had laughed, tossing her head back, letting pure white hair catch brilliantly in the sunlight.

“The ships! Oh come now Cala, _surely_ you’ve seen the new thing the mortals are into? Honestly I’m a tad jealous~. You know, not a single mortal has crafted a statue of me?”

“Face changing wench.” Cala hissed, not trusting the deity for even a _second._ King Dice had hummed, shrugging lazily, and then vanishing. Cala stood by the belief that King was more dramatic than Sally or Beppi _combined._

====-====-====-====

Cala helped sailors and fishermen alike, mostly to soak in the praise, but also because she was told to do so and when the thing telling her to do so also had the ability to crush her, well, it wasn’t hard for her to readily listen. Praise made it all too easy to shove what King had said out of her mind too.

She remembered the days of mocking the ugly sculptures, of teasing sailors for having such horrid things on their already plain ships. The sheer thought that there were things bearing her face out there, just as ugly, just as mocked, irked her far more than she cared to admit. So she tried pushing it out of her mind, and luckily enough for her fickle temper, she was mostly successful in doing so. Right up until she spotted the thing.

It was boxy, with rough edges, on a ship that was clearly newer to the ocean. She took one look at it, and turned the entire thing, sailors and all, to stone. Well, the ones that were on the deck turned to stone, the others were trapped in the hull as the ship immediately dropped into the depths like the stone it was. She wasn’t sure how they died, she just knew it wasn’t with the others. Not with how the screaming continued as it sank.

Cala, bright with indignation, blew off steam in the deepest trench for an entire week. Upon cooling down, and being told to question what the effigies were for by her Domain, she swam to the nearest port. Because when her very surroundings told her to do something, she did it. Sure, her Domain didn’t actually care to know the reason, but it wasn’t keen on losing the cute boats just because of a bit of misinterpretation. Cala agreed, well, she didn’t, but then the water around her dropped drastically in temperature, and she swam so fast she face planted into a reef.

No one saw it except a few fish, and she ate them. She refused to take the chance of some of the more aquatic mortals learning of such an embarrassing moment.

“We use them to scare away the threats of the deep!” A fisherman cheerfully informed her. Now, Cala Maria, who had never really bothered to think the way a land walking mortal thought, didn’t take that the way the fisherman intended. To her, he wasn’t saying the figureheads acted as bringers of safety and luck. To her, it was a clear indication that they’d made her ugly to scare away things in her place. Which, to her, was so insulting, she couldn’t even kick her brain back into working until _after_ she had crushed the boat, the fisherman, and four more boats nearby, leaving the ocean empty of any ships.

She sucked in great lungfulls of air, body shaking with rage. Her Domain, had it been anything more than a great void like mass with a single eye that seemed to follow her no matter where she went, would have arched a single brow. She didn’t care.

Sirens were ugly. Sirens, with their disgusting wings, malformed faces, warped bodies, were eye sores. Oh they could sing, that was the only thing they could do. Mermaids? Cala Maria wasn’t a siren, she was a gorgeous mermaid sharing the blood of equally beautiful gorgons. She was _perfect_ in appearance. She had every single thing mortals dreamed they had to even an iota as gorgeous as she was. She wasn’t some boxy trout to staple to the front of an equally ugly boat no matter who made it.

She began to swim, head stuffed full of her goal. So many years of helping sailors out, keeping fishermen’s nets full without ruining the sea around them just to feed their insatiable gullets. So many centuries of teaching mortals that praising her got them anything they could ever want from her. All gone, all torn to pieces by the idea that she was perfect fear material for the other oddities of the deep.

  _She was bitter._

====-====-====-====

She should have known crushing so many ships would have forced the mortals to lock her away. She should have, but when it actually happened, she’d assumed her Domain would simply squash the barrier, and let her swim free once more.

It didn’t.

It outright laughed in her face, figuratively, and literally, and ceased to talk to her at all after that.

She went from bitter, to _barbarous._

She swam around the barrier endlessly for four years, searching high and low for any weaknesses. When she finally conceded that not only were there none, but with it being the work of Elder Kettle, there never would be. She raged, the water around her raged too, mockingly, dramatizing her motions to a comical level. She _hated it._

She held onto that rage, even when others lost it or grew desperate to return to the way things were. She held onto it, proudly so. _She had done no wrong._

But, being devoured by a _thing_ , a _creature_ far worse than any single thing in the deep, well that really jumpstarted the grand ceremony of booting denial off the cliffs of her mind. She tried, she really did, as unbearable weight crushed her down to her very soul, dragging her into such agony she couldn’t even begin to try and hold onto her anger. So, she didn’t. She tried tossing it aside simply to rid herself of the pressure, but that only made it worse, forcing her to truly _think._

So she did.

She sat, and thought. She would have been a writhing mass of unmitigated suffering, but she was suffering too much to even writhe.

So she thought.

And when the child who held the thing that had forced her to set aside her emotions to think flagged, grew weak with fear, she rolled her eyes. It hurt, but not as much. She tried to imagine just how a fragile little thing was the chosen vessel of such a beast of a Domain, but couldn’t. The thing trapping her chuckled, and she decided that was scarier than actually seeing the damn thing. She had thought, and thought, and thought, and suffered all the while. But now, with her head far more clear than it had ever been, she thought not about how badly she had acted. Instead, she thought about how much she wanted to teach the child to be more like his brother.

Really, the blue one had been braver than this one, and that was silly. The blue one was a tiny little mortal, frail and meek. Even insulted her! So, with little hesitation, she nudged her Domain once more after a century of ignoring it. The red one had a tiny fragment of her Domain within it, she’d be horrible to _not_ help the little cherry barb, really, she would.

====-====-====-====

The Express hadn’t always been a train. The form changed with time, taking on the image of whatever best suited its needs. At first, Hott had been a Ferry. But that had proven to be far too slow, no matter how hard he pushed his engines. Then the Express was a carriage, hoping that would increase the speed, even if it decreased the amount of passengers able to travel with it. That had proven entirely incorrect, and so, the form continued to change.

Countless readjustments over eons, as, unlike many of the other gods, the Phantom Express hadn’t died to gain a god status. Hott had simply popped into existence, Domain haggard with exhaustion telling him to _help._

So Hott did.

The train he currently pulled was his most efficient form thus far. With tracks able to go wherever he wanted, even across water should he choose, he was sure it was perfect for his needs. He’d even taken the time to allow a few of the passengers that simply didn’t want to leave to stay as workers, speeding his efficiency up by leaps and bounds.

But Hott, despite being a deliverer of the dead, had never truly gotten the hang of the more angry ghosts. There were countless mortals enraged or deranged by death taking them “before their time”. Hott wasn’t much for fighting. Sure, if they got in front of him he could turn them into a fine mist, but other than that, he was helpless when it came to fending off angry attacks. Before his crew, he’d had the other spirits who thankfully didn’t take too kindly to someone putting all the passengers at risk of falling into various rivers or voids of nothingness. And before them, he had his sister.

He loved his sister to be sure. She was fierce, even more so than any of the other warriors he’d ever met. She was the one who stepped up to defend Hott in the earliest years. Once he got a crew, she had been estatic.

“This is perfect, brother! Think about it, while you’re off collecting the calm souls, I’ll be able to quell the angrier ones before you even get to them! How wonderful!” She’d proclaimed, and then proceeded to act as if she was giving him over to the crew like a father giving away his daughter. Hott _still_ steamed when the others brought it up. But her words proved to be true. She always managed to find her way to the rowdier souls, crushing their desire to fight quite soundly before he even saw their name on his list.

His crew certainly took care of any who still had a bit in them, or had slipped under Chalice’s radar, but she _always_ handled the worst of the worst.

Hott, nor his crew, really understood just what had changed, but when it did, by the time they realized it, it was already too late to fix.

====-====-====-====

Much like the other gods, Hott had natural defenses to any outside invaders. His firebox burned bright on fire that readily devoured anything foreign that happened to fall in. His speeds rarely dipped below ‘zooming so fast you’d be at your stop before you’d even sat down’, making him difficult to chase. His tracks _never_ stayed in place, always vanishing mere meters after his caboose had gone over them, making him impossible to track.

He didn’t worry about that sort of stuff, it simply didn’t occur to him to. He knew well and good how the people worshipped him. How they wept with joy at the sound of his whistle, as it became synonymous with a loved one being at peace. He made sure to give them a spot of time to say goodbye, even if they could no longer see their loved one, and then he’d be off, following the path his sister left to be sure he wouldn’t accidentally go after a violent soul.

But after centuries of working hard, being thanked by countless souls eager to finally rest, things tilted. He started finding more and more angry souls.

Now, he was perfectly aware that his sister wasn’t as fast as him, nor was she any different from him in that there was only one of her. He chalked it up to a sign that he needed to slow it down a bit, to let her keep ahead. So he did. But nothing changed, souls, blinded by anger or grief or disbelief would bash against him, tearing apart his carriages, attacking the other passengers.

Even T-bone’s enthusiastic acceptance of ‘the challenge’ as he put it, didn’t lower the number. T-bone wasn’t Chalice, and though he could toss the rowdy souls into the afterlife they were designated for, he couldn’t knock the fight out of them. Blind Specter tried for a little, regaling the angry ones with all sorts of embarrassing facts about them that he _saw_. He’d hoped the embarrassment would be enough to make them knock off their horrid behavior long enough to get them off the Express.

Then, one day, and no one quite knew when, but one day, a soul got it in their head that if they could just _force_ Hott to go where _they_ wanted, they wouldn’t have to fear what stop they were going to. They even found a way around his defenses.

They fed themselves into the Tender. Anything that was fed from the Tender was always devoured slowly, methodically, to keep Hott from ever worrying about refueling at any of the stations. The soul managed to find a way to attach themselves to the Tender, therefore getting into his very soul. Where there was one, there were a dozen, then there were a hundred, and so on. Soon, thousands of souls flooded him, crushing him within his own body, forcing him away, taking possession of him.

He never even understood what went wrong.

He _drowned_ _for centuries._ His whistle now brought fear, but not fear of him, but of the fate of the loved ones doomed to board the Express. His worshippers struggled for the same amount of time he was possessed, trying to appeal to Chalice, trying to find ways to banish the spirits. Nothing worked.

Chalice ignored them, or outright killed them. His crew did the best they could. The brakemen just about tore themselves apart trying to get him to stop before the stations, hoping the two in either would help Hott. But neither did, or really could. Devil had given an attempt, he never explained why, but he’d tried, and he’d even managed to take a good chunk of souls from the train, dragging them off, giving them some reprieve, but he could never do it again. And the brakemen were forbidden from ever trying it again. Not out of fear the two other gods in the afterlives would be upset, but fear they’d die a second time if they did.

T-bone grew angry, spouting vitriol about Chalice. Blind Specter wept, locking himself away in the carriage where those content, even eager to pass on stayed, sobbing into the empty car. The brakemen got into a brutal fight about a century before they were trapped on Inkwell, and stayed on opposite sides of the train. Everyone gave up hope.

If not even his sister would help the brother she’d always claimed to love, then what else was there to do but give up?

====-====-====-====

Blind Specter couldn’t really explain what had made him grab the child shining so bright beside the tracks. He’d long since lost most of his sanity to a gnawing depression. But he did. He’d reached out, and snatched the tiny thing right up. He’d shrug and say it was habit from all those years ago. None of the others would really believe him, but it was the best they got.

He snatched the boy up, and the boy didn’t rebel. He didn’t collapse with grief, or rage, or weep. He obtained his goal, and pressed forward. None of them quite knew how he’d burned the first amalgamation of countless souls packed into one, but the fact that he’d taken a major piece from the possessing ghosts, brushed dust from the old, long dormant hope. Those things were _needed_ for the thing to maintain full control of all parts of the train. They were spirits who’d accepted that they were dead, but demanded revenge instead of peace. The souls brought to insanity by the loneliness of being the only one of a family to die, or even just ones who’d died alone and couldn’t bear the crushing isolation. Spirits whose grief overpowered everything else.

And the boy had burned one of them to ashes. Thrown a plate at another one, and though he’d nearly fallen to the last one, he didn’t give up. He didn’t do as the others had when everything they’d tried failed. They knew he was a budding deity, that much was easy for them. But no other gods had the ability Chalice did.

Hope was an odd thing, and when mixed with a sudden desperation, it made for an impressive mix. They’d “stormed the castle” as it were, charging into battle, calling for Hott to do the same. Hott’s crying had hurt them, cut into them deeply. But he did, he fought enough to wrestle control of his brakes, of the track, from the souls crushing him. The golden fire from the boys Domain helped. The Domain itself, something just as ancient as Hott’s had observed them all, not cold, not cruel, not pitying, but nothing else. The fire though. It moved as if its only goal was to devour the thing that had _dared_ to lay a single touch on its beloved child.

But the boy wasn’t a full god yet, his frail little body simply wasn’t able to support the needed power to truly fry the souls away. Even so, it was enough. It was enough to get Hott back in control, get the boy off the train, and reinvigorate the crew. They tried to use the opening given to them, but with the other two beasts aboard the Express, it wasn’t enough, and they crumbled. Not all the way back down, no, T-bone refused. He beat the souls back, taking over the angry car, destroying any attempts at recharging the souls leeching off of Hott.

The brakemen tried to once more stop Hott, hopeful that when the boy did become a god, he’d have an easier time helping Hott. But they’d nearly died again, and it was only Blind Specter forcing them to stop that saved them. They wanted to be mad at Specter, but Specter just cried. Everyone was frustrated, it had been _so close._

====-====-====-====

Then the second boy appeared, and the ghosts, blinded by the pain and anger of their first loss, decided to toy with the god.

So Blind Specter took him on the way he had the other. And the boy, much like the first, charged on ahead. A bit more abrasive, a bit more brash, but, being a full deity, even though he was young, meant he was _far_ more efficient at tearing into the countless souls.

They were oddly surprised at Kahl’s appearance, but all the same, he was welcomed. Especially now that he was no longer buried under his own ego. He didn’t kill the beast, but he damaged it, enough that Blind Specter’s fury easily overpowered the thing. Blind had torn the thing to _pieces_ , aided by Kahl keeping it from escaping, giving Blind Specter _ideas._ And it fell. The second to go. Specter dropped Kahl off after that, taking advantage of Kahls’ god status to cheat the void and get Kahl off without stopping by the clearing.

Then he shot the ever-loving mercy out of the car full of rage. Even now, it was still packed full of people sobbing away, apologizing profusely for their mistakes. But the thing was, they didn’t try for Hott, they didn’t try _anything._  Which meant T-bone was free to start working on the other cars. Even better was what happened to the third and final beast. Everyone knew Elder Kettles potions simply didn’t give a hoot about rules once they hit the expiration date. Those things were _terrifying._ But they worked. Sure, they’d have to craft a new car, but none of them really cared about that. Not when they were far too busy being satisfied that the cars were clear of the things.

And finally, he’d taken on the possessors. Once again, he’d gotten help, but they weren’t surprised he’d needed it, what with how young he was. The brakemen were quite vocal in how eager they were to see the kid when he was older, more experienced, _stronger._ The other workers couldn’t find it in themselves to even pretend to disagree. He’d bested the things. Clearing them out in the grandest way the crew had ever seen in their lives. If they now lovingly polished every bit of china on the train reverently, that was simply their business, and no one else’s.

Of course, with Hott returned, and properly smothered in all sorts of hugs. There were things to do, cars to clean, plans to start… It was no surprise that none of them spotted the flash of gold shooting past them, straight for the entrance to hell, now free of any barriers.

====-====-====-====

Sally wasn’t as grand as Beppi. She wasn’t as flirty as Cala. She wasn’t flighty as Hilda. She wasn’t fierce like the victory brothers. She didn’t have a lick of knowledge outside her chosen field like Rumor did. The last time she’d tried to grow a plant, it had died right in front of a flabbergasted Cagney. Really, it was impressive how odd she was compared to a number of the other gods. Her and Werner were top dogs in scrapping together odd things though, and she took that with pride.

When she’d been a wee little tot, she’d seen nothing _but_ the stage. She was even born on it, when her mother went into labor during an opera right at the grand finale. Her parents had joked that she’d been so affronted by the lead singers horrible butchering of the notes that she’d simply refused to wait any longer to scold the woman. Sally wasn’t sure, nor did she really care beyond using it in one of her plays. She was raised by the stage, beside the stage, never away from the stage.

She fondly recalled being a tiny little thing, barely taller than her father’s thigh, stomping her little feet and demanding the lead actor put more emotion into his confession. They’d found her antics adorable, letting her run the show as it were, even if she didn’t really have any power over the final decisions. Sure, the memories were blurry, but that was what over a thousand years did to ones memories. Even with that, she still tried her best to hold onto those early memories. Keeping them as clear as she could by writing them into plays.

She continued to do everything on stage, even proposing to her husband, marrying him under the bright stage lights burning away in their little holders. They didn’t really strive to have children, far too enamored by the acting world to actually care for any distractions of the child sort. But they certainly took in plenty of children to help around the theater Sally bought with the money she’d squirreled away religiously. It was the best time of her life.

====-====-====-====

But just as she made a grand entrance, she made a grand exit as well.

She wondered if she was lucky enough to have died on impact when the backdrop fell on her and her husband. When she later awoke, she learned her husband had been far less fortunate. The claw marks scored into her stage told her all the story she needed. He’d tried to pull himself to her even as he breathed his last.

She wept over his body, in the theater oddly empty despite the tragedy.

Later she would learn it had been the stage itself, her Domain taking it over, shielding her grief from the outside world.

Unlike her, he never came back, so the short of it was, she believed herself to be one of the first gods to actually hate their Domain. How she _loathed_ the thing, the bright mask wrapped in a cloak of velvet dark. She _hated it_.

Her hate didn’t last, despite her attempts to hold onto it forever. That proved hard to do with Beppi being such an entertaining oddity. Her brother soothed her with his silly antics, winning over her acceptance of her new state. She put her husbands’ bones into the audience of her Inkwell home. And though she was far too late to ask the Express whether he was happy with his burial place, she got the feeling he didn’t mind. He would have laughed that all too warm laugh of his, lovingly calling her his “Silly Stageplay”. She missed him even now, centuries later.

The show must go on, and it did. She drafted up grand plays, mixing Beppi’s expertise into them, lending him her ideas for his acrobatic stunts. She began to take from the other gods as well, with Djimmi and Hilda being her favorites to glean ideas from. Those two certainly found her entertaining, so they offered up ideas here or there.

====-====-====-====

Her goal on stage hadn’t changed with her status upgrade. She still yearned to create plays so grand, so awe inspiring, the audience would be struck dumb for weeks before bursting into furiously exalted chatter about it. But she was only one woman, and her old actors were dead by the time she got over her grief and accepted her Domain.

She started small, testing her Domain, demanding it show her just what gave it the right to take her from her happiest moments. It did so…with enthusiasm unmatched.

With its help, she tutored an unfathomable number of people, elevating their abilities, nudging the passion in them to fuel their skills. It became well known that any who were trained by her or got her blessing were sure to never fail on the stage. There had even been plays where only those actors blessed by her played parts, moving audiences exactly how Sally had always dreamed of. Soon the experienced actors were taking in new ones, using her methods to varying degrees to spread the joy of acting across the globe. Stories were transformed into epics so monumental, so incredible, people couldn’t help but go.

Sally cherished the praise, used their offerings to fill her stages with more props, more stories, more ideas. She loved it, often taking time to stop by her Inkwell stage to regale her husband with the stories acting them out with all the enthusiasm in the world, using the actors who had passed on long ago but requested she use their bones to further her stage. Many who fell under her spell found themselves almost looking forward to the knowledge that even after death they would continue to better the stage. She graciously took their requests up, filling her Inkwell theater to the point that she needed to build an expansion to it twice.

Those who caught her attention were the only ones allowed to watch plays put on in that theater. But every single viewer found themselves enraptured by the operas, the plays, the musicals, all done in that theater, with nothing but the souls and bodies of actors long rotted to the bone. It was there that she spun tales of the gods themselves, crafting epics of the numerous things the others had done.

It was the second highlight of her life.

She wouldn’t have a third, not for a _long_ time.

====-====-====-====

With the passion that came with her, and with time eroding her former tough love into just brutal demands, she found herself having to scrounge for actors who wanted to put themselves under her wing. The days of being inundated with prayers, offerings, and people who spoke of traveling across the entire world just to see her were dwindling. She wondered if it was due to how temperamental she could get when her students didn’t do as she said.

She found it hard to care after a while.

She still attended plays, donning elaborate disguises so she could watch in peace. During one such play, an actor flubbed a line, and though the others on stage easily worked the mistake into their lines, smoothing the accident over without the audience even realizing there had been an error, Sally hadn’t missed it. Not because she knew the play well.

Not because she’d taught that actor, coaching them on that very play.

But because it was one of _hers’ he’d messed up._

She waited until the show was over to storm the stage, and break his leg clean off. Coldly remarking how he should have put just as much effort into the screaming he was currently belting out into his acting. She had ignored the horrified mortals around her, glaring at him as they pulled him away from her.

Word spread, and every single play, the actors paused to pray, not that she was present the way they used to, but for her absence. No one wanted to spot her in the seats, observing them. They feared her, and she knew why, but to her, it was just insulting that she’d pour everything she had into the stage, but they wouldn’t. She didn’t care when they tried to claim it was an honest mistake. She’d tell them, as she mauled them, that _she_ had never made such a rookie mistake even when she herself had been a rookie.

So of course, when she woke up on her Inkwell stage, keenly aware of the others outside, raging, calling “imprisoned! Locked! Trapped! How dare they!” to the heavens, she just lied there.

The mortals wanted her to change, to fix herself, to _forgive_ them.

She refused.

=====-====-====-====

A century plus later, and a little blue child stormed into her theater so perfectly she knew damn well she would never forget it. Honestly, she was a little enamored. But that paled in comparison to her stunning ability to hold a grudge. Except, then he started acting, letting her doll him up, dress him however she pleased, letting her play her game. She wondered if he’d known she’d set him up to fail, hoping she could force him to lose so she could keep him. It had been ages since she added to her collection, so she wasn’t willing to let someone so passionate go.

She knew it wasn’t the stage that held his heart, that it was his drive to reach an end goal beyond the theater that made him so perfect on the first stage he ever stepped onto. She loved it, even as she acted like she didn’t. Well, at the time she hated it, then she admired it, then she loved it. When he broke free, outwitting her _so perfectly_ , she didn’t hesitate to spill his soul liquid onto her theater’s floor. Even if she couldn’t have him, if she got a piece of him, she could claim that piece for her stage.

She figured she could wait a while, and when the kid eventually died from the Express, or was cracked to pieces by the rat bastard hiding behind magic stronger than even Djimmi’s, she’d pick him up, and add him.

His brother however, she could do without. She used that piece of the other, not to get the little god to be part of her stage, no, she didn’t want anything to do with the kid. He had all the acting skills of an egg. She bet her actual tea set could act better than him. But that piece of the other, even as just a piece, put on a repeat performance. She’d gone to pains to be sure the new form couldn’t emote, couldn’t change the unnervingly blank expression that death brought to many porcelain beings. But he outdid her again.

And she hadn’t even seen it coming.

She was bested once more, and to that, she thought. She wondered, as she shouted at Beppi, shoe held high, if that was a sign that she’d simply been too blinded by her own visions. Oh she would never apologize to those actors she’d destroyed. But, well, if she watched another play, and someone made a mistake, she decided it would be far better to sit back, and watch the magic of acting turn that mistake into a glorious show of adaptability.

Before that however, she was _pissed._ That piece of the child _was not some damn pawn to help Beppi schmooze up closer to Djimmi dammit._

“Give him back you rat bastard!”

“Oi!”

“Shut the hell up Werner!”

“But sis! Ain’t they cute?! Look how happy Djimmi’s kid looks!”

“ _That’s my actor you inflatable ass!”_

====-====-====-====

Elder Kettle was just that, an Elder. When some Domains were still forming, he and his brother were already under the wing of their own. Literally on occasion, their Domain was one of the touchiest they knew of. He was an Elder, and unsurprisingly, even with immortality, he was still affected by all the things old people were hit by. He would drift off on occasion, even when his brother wasn’t at the bottom of a well. He was quick though, at least he thought, in catching his mistakes.

He watched the other gods fail to catch themselves as they fell. Chalice didn’t surprise him, he and his brother had placed bets on when she’d snap, but Luck did. He’d been so sure Luck would fall to the corruption of all the others, especially being so near the hated ball of fur none of the other gods truly liked.

But, surprisingly enough, King Dice never did. He was certainly a piece of work to be sure, giving out more headaches than anything else to the other gods. Still, Elder Kettle would gladly bet that Luck was just good at hiding his corruption if his brother wasn’t locked away in an unreachable place.

Long before Inkwell became a prison, he used to constantly visit Inkwell when the other gods were gone, using his potions and wisdom to hide himself even knowing the other gods didn’t come to that area often. He spoke to his brother, sharing all the things he’d learned thus far, and his brother, despite being a bit off put that he too couldn’t learn, accepted the show of Elder Kettle’s guilt well enough.

Back in their heyday, they were the best of the best. They liked to think that aside from the Express, they were the reason that the other gods were so readily accepted by mortals across the globe. The hard work they poured into getting mortals to see them for what they were and praise them rather than fear them paid off. With every new set of deities, Elder Kettle learned more, and as he learned so too did the rest of the world. Deities being born became grant celebrations all throughout the world. Countries proudly claimed the deities born in their borders as their own, adopting them in a way, if only to brag.

None of the gods minded, not as far he could tell. Especially not when it made it all the easier to build temples so grand it put other monuments to shame, giving the gods a spot to rest.

His place however, well, there hadn’t been a country when he was born, nor one for his brother, so the two found their own place long before hand, so Elder Kettle wasn’t even remotely jealous.

That place was Inkwell Isles.

An odd piece of land that expressed itself in ways no other location did. It was _alive_ , and though neither brother nor Domain knew why, they took advantage of it. And when his brother pseudo-died again, trapped within the well, Inkwell agreed to care for it. They showered affection and attention and praise on the land, loving how useful it was to have a place all to themselves.

When more gods began to appear, Elder Kettle didn’t hesitate to show them to Inkwell. He hoped that by doing so, not only could he learn more about Inkwell, but his brother would be less lonely. Inkwell just about burst with joy as its Isles became the home of the gods. Mortals no longer avoided the area, tossed aside notions it was cursed, and came to visit. Building great monuments to show their devotion to the gods as well as keep themselves closer to the gods. Inkwell, nor the others, minded. Not when it made life on Inkwell just that bit more _fun._

====-====-====-=====

Long ago, when his brother was able, he was always the first to point out when Elder Kettle was wrong, or when he was forgetting something. He’d found Elder Kettle’s age jokes hilarious. He was the one who kept Elder Kettle from straying too far, and when it became harder to visit him, well, Elder Kettle would bet every penny he had that _that_ was what did him in.

He sat, in his empty house, destroyed from the grief-stricken panic of a tiny little god who Elder Kettle had taken in. He sat, staring into the cold fireplace, carefully, _meticulously_ putting every mistake he made out into the open. How he’d failed to keep a closer eye on the boys. How he failed to tell them from the get go that they weren’t going to be mortals forever. How he failed to protect them the way his own parents had guarded him eons ago.

He sat, staring at two toys, bought years ago, for two tiny children, so bright eyed and eager to see him. Elder Kettle stared at them, and told them how horribly he’d failed.

They did not answer back.

Elder Kettle could see now, after it had been shouted at him, just where he’d messed up. He’d always been a bit jumpy with his teaching methods. But his students often spoke to him –not all the time, and he wondered just how many more he’d killed with his deplorable acts—the boys never got the chance.

How could he expect the boys to even know they were supposed to question him, when he’d never given them any indication. In fact, he’d been rather strict. He’d kept most any outside influences from them, isolating the area, guarding the two like Grim guarded treasure. But they were that to him, little treasures. Bright, glittering beacons to a chance at regaining the world as it once was.

When the gods fell, people feared them. They even feared him, but he’d been crafty, smart, careful, he’d kept them from fearing him. He wasn’t the only one, but he and King Dice were the only free ones. The only ones able to keep the memories of the gods alive in the hearts of fragile mortals. Those who once worshipped the gods still kept the temples from collapsing into ruin at least, but that was it. No one prayed to them. No one sat on the steps, offerings in hand, hopeful to get what they wanted, even if that was just to see such glorious beings.

No one had forgotten them either. But no one really remembered them fondly anymore. Too much time had passed, and memories acted more as open wounds than anything else. Locking the gods away hadn’t truly fixed anything, not to the people. There were no answers given by deities long gone. Sailors would still spread word of Inkwell’s current state, painting a grim picture that only enforced the idea that the gods needed to stay trapped.

So when he found these two little children, barely bigger than his palm as all porcelain beings started, he felt the call of their Domains. He sensed exactly what any other deity would had they been present. The presence of another deity. Even slumbering away, Domains gave off a very distinct aura. Elder Kettle once tried to see whether that was to be sure their host would remain safe for as long as needed to mature properly. He still couldn’t be sure, Domains were nothing if not varied and secretive. Even his own had simply laughed when he and his brother had asked.

There, before his feet, on the cool grass, sat two teeny little babies. Curled around one another, the two slept peacefully, uncaring of the outside world, or the new arrival they’d stunned without even opening their eyes. His Domain cooed, and he was lost.

He’d taken them in, caring for them at first with such enthusiasm his worshippers had seen the change. When they heard he’d taken in two little babies, they threw themselves into getting him as many books on rearing children. He never said what kind they were, worried someone might assume they were little gods in the making and kill them.

Porcelain was _so fragile_.

He looked back on the day he’d just tucked the books into one of his storage seals without even cracking one open, and felt a burning desire to bash his face in.

For the first three years, he cared for them. He taught them as much as he thought they needed to know to survive when he inevitably went back out into the world. Porcelain was far easier to care for than something fleshy, no diapers meant less hassle that was for sure. But those first three years, he’d painstakingly etched them into his memories, driving them into his head with memory spell after memory spell.

He could still look at the kitchen counter, and remember little Cuphead, not even taller than Elder Kettle’s knee, scampering up to reach for the cupboards above the counter while his tiny brother laughed, seated safely on the tile floor. He could look towards the sink, and remember little Mugman scooting as fast as his tiny feet could take him away as he staved off the inevitable bath he was due for after a dive into a mud puddle.

The rug that now sat crumpled in a heap on his broken rocking chair brought up memories of the two children, babbling away to one another, bursting into laughter or hugging one another out of nowhere for reasons he’d never know. His favorite memories were of coming home, and finding two little toddlers curled exactly how he’d found them just a handful of years ago, wrapped around one another by the warm fireplace.

Granted, he also remembered how the two fell asleep in the oddest damn places forcing him to search for babies without waking them. The first—and last—time he ever shouted for them upon not finding them, causing them to cry—on the rafters, they were on the damn _rafters_ —later that night, he’d awoken to _something._

On his nightstand sat little Mugman, staring at him, blankly, eerily… Above him, clinging to the ceiling with baby strength, was Cuphead, chewing on one of the corks to his many bottles he swore he’d locked up before he’d gone to bed.

He screamed.

The boys smiled.

He never woke them from their naps ever again.

====-====-====-====

Now though, he could only sit in a house that hadn’t been so empty in twelve years. Twelve years, an amount that all porcelain beings considered infant in age. The species could last thousands of years easily, so twelve whole years wasn’t even a drop in the bucket for any of them. But twelve years, and now one was dead, and the other was likely on the fast track to death if he wasn’t already shattered by a vengeful god.

Elder Kettle sat, and he and his Domain quietly cataloged every. Last. Moment.

Every single mistake, every failure, every piece of knowledge not shared that was vital to know. His boys were masters of mathematics, but he’d not even shown them an atlas.

He stared at the floorboard he knew held their stash of magicked ‘candy’. He knew them to be ice chips he’d simply magicked into tasting of two measly flavors. He let his gaze drop to his hands, clenched tightly in his lap.

Oh, he was wise enough to know just how brutal the gods had become. He knew Cagney would take one look at frail little Mugman and either crush him or turn him into a flowerpot. He knew Hilda would torment him with dreams he’d never be able to escape from. He knew all too well how the victory brothers would smash Mugman just because they could.

He remembered two bright blue eyes, peering at him so adorably right as he’d discovered his kitchen turned into a wood graveyard by the red one sat in the midst of his own mess, awkwardly clutching a butter knife. Signs of carving decorated many of the cabinets, but it was a butter knife, so every single one was horribly done. But there the other was, a sweet expression so cute his anger got stomped into the dirt by not only his own love for them but his Domain’s love for them.

“But Elder Kettle, brother only wants to learn how to carve! Those wonderful books you gave us a few months ago on your last visit fascinated him so!” Mugman had explained, the very definition of cute. His Domain had remarked later, when he wasn’t blinded by adorable.

_Sneaky little one, so smart. I love them._

And now, in an empty house, Elder Kettle knew the child had simply learned cute got him and his brother out of things. It worked too, Elder Kettle was a sucker for the puppy eyes both of them gave when they were wee little tots.

He wondered if Mugman would ever try to trick him out of his anger ever again. Or if he and Cuphead would be trapped on Inkwell, at the mercy of vicious gods far older than they were, even by mortal age. Or even if the two would break free, but choose to hate him for his woeful efforts in raising them. His chest _ached_ with the idea that his little children, adopted as they were, glaring at him, not a hint of the former adoration to be seen.

His hands shook on his lap, metal creaking as his grip tightened and tears started to pour from his eyes.

_Child. If they do break free, you shall fail them a thousand times over with the current state of the world._

His Domain, his only true constant, spoke out.

_Think of the fear mortals still hold for gods. Think of the grand ceremonies once done for each set that the little ones will not get. What if they are to return but are chased back by angry mobs? Would you sit idly by when you could be preparing the world? Change is in the air, you may not see it but I do._

His Domain was right, Elder Kettle realized, an entire new fear bringing him to his feet. For almost two days he’d sat and moped in his house, cataloguing his mistakes, but making no effort to fix them as he swore to Cuphead he would.

The world was still wounded from the betrayal of a century ago, and his boys, _his children_ were possibly going to run back into a world that feared them. He didn’t think people would pause long enough for any level of puppy eyes to work.

His mind began to race, sprinting into overdrive with countless ideas as to where to start, where to visit, what to say, what to do.

He’d treated the boys as mere tools before, he could admit that. Oh he loved them, but only because to him, they’d been the light at the end of the tunnel. A sign that he would get his fellow gods back, and that his brother would become available to him once more.

He gathered as many potions as needed, yanked a book of the many tales he’d written down about the gods out from its hiding place. The good stories, the embarrassing ones that would be most likely to endear the people to the rather zany antics of yesteryear. Remind them of the gods they once loved and perhaps give them hope.

When Elder Kettle returned home, the boys had _always_ greeted him with all the excitement two children could muster. When they returned home, he was going to make _damn certain_ they’d return to a _worldwide celebration._ If the Devil of all furry bastards could make people choose him over the gods they once called for then by every cloud in the sky, by every wave in the ocean, by every _single blade of grass he would make the people love the gods once more._

====-====-====-====-====

Chalice wasn’t exactly like her brother in terms of being born. She didn’t just spring from the very lake of Death, given a hasty plea, and tossed out into the world. No, she was born like all the rest. Throughout her mortal life, she had always reached for her spear before anything else. Her father’s glaive still bore marks of her teething.  Her mother had found it hilarious to the best of her memories, up until her knife gained the same little bite marks.

She was a little warrior, using the fact that she was perceived as true porcelain to surprise her foes. Be it alley cats yowling too loudly, or other cats shanking someone under her windows at night. She gained a reputation almost faster than she herself grew. Some notable ones mistook her for earthenware and _those_ were her favorites. The idea of earthenware being any level of sturdy that porcelain was? Hilarious.

She was a little spitfire, head tilted towards the battlefields over anything else. She didn’t relish in spilling blood, preferring to end a life before the other even thought to feel pain. And to her allies, she was a veritable salve, coming to their aid, staying by their side as they breathed their last. She wasn’t cold and shallow, offering comfort whenever she could to those who needed it.  

She was a favorite among her fellow soldiers. She loved their attention almost as much as she loved the thrill of battle. And she went above and beyond to keep that praise coming, keep them thanking her for making the passing of their loved ones easier.

Chalice was content, but she was a warrior, and like any warrior not suffering from one too many blows to the head, she was well aware just what being a warrior meant. So, when she was finally struck down, pierced through by her own spear, she tried to find it in herself to be surprised. Granted, one stab wasn’t enough to put her down. The elephant then stomping on her head sure was though! She _still_ hated how her last sight was that of a gross elephant foot covered in all manner of disgusting things. She only hoped she had closed her mouth before the stomping began.

====-====-====-====

She was there right around the time Elder Kettle was, but memories of his brother were hazy at best. Which meant she was one of the first, along side her own brother. This meant that it was slow going at first. Her Domain struggled to fully explain her role, often flip-flopping when it realized Hott would be better at one thing than she would be and vice versa.

While on Hott, relaxing amongst numerous souls heading to the afterlife, listening to the soothing sound of water sliding across her brothers’ hull, she came across the first instance of her true calling.

A soul, angry at having been denied his revenge, banged on Hott’s side, bashing it, shouting up a hellish storm and demanding to be let off. He’d already tossed one poor soul over the side. Hott had only barely caught the soul before it hit the river, lost forever. She felt her soul curdle at the sight of some upstart fouling up the image of grand warriors, treating her rather adorable brother like he was just a piece of garbage.

She wasn’t too sure what happened between her sitting and her standing right in his face, her own flushed a bright red with anger.

“And just _who do you think you’re attacking?!_ Do you think you’re the only one upset at something taken from them?” She’d shouted, shoving him backwards with unnatural strength. “Perhaps you would have gotten your revenge had _you not been such a pathetic waste of armor_!”

She saw the punch coming almost like it was five times slower, her spear, with her even in her new life, flashed into existence for the first time since she’d died. She’d run him through with such ferocity he’d pitched clear off the other side of the ferry, toppling over into the river. Her brother had been far too stunned to save the man. She’d called her spear back, clicking her tongue at the sight of whatever made for ghost blood now marring her beloved weapon. Then she turned to the rest of the passengers, pulling a full one-eighty in how she stood.

“Now then,” She said, batting her lashes, leaning on her spear, ignoring the blood running down her hands, staining them. “Would anyone else like to file a complaint?”

No one else had. She was almost disappointed.

====-====-====-====

When it became a regular event for her to beat the fear _not_ getting off Hott in one piece, she accepted that as a sign that she was simply made to defend her sibling. She treated him as her warrior in arms, someone to fight alongside, even if he didn’t really fight. He tried a few times, but he had so much precious cargo he simply couldn’t do more than let them bash against his sides until Chalice stepped in.

When Chalice stepped in, she did it with the same level of barbarianism she’d had on the battlefield. She _flew_ at the attackers, eyes black voids save for two brilliant gleaming irises. Her spear _sang_ the song of battle often, and she was sure if she wasn’t glad to be a goddess, she would now. She never tired of breaking them down, forcing them to concede and simply let Hott ferry them peacefully. Her brother was thankful, whistling a merry tune for her after every trip. She loved him, truly she did.

That love only made her even more vicious. No one so much as spit on the floorboards and got away with it. Chalice both loved it and hated it at the same time. On the one hand, she loved the battle, on the other, it was her brother they were disrespecting. Her brother, who simply wanted to help their Domain, and ferry the dead where they needed to go. It was appalling how many souls that should have been celebrating their warriors death chose instead to scream at someone who had no control over how horrid they were in life.

So she took her job up gladly, not a single hint of regret or a pause of thought to be seen.

====-====-====-====

Later on, when he’d taken other forms, she’d followed, and he always made sure there was a place for her on board, always a spot of room just for her. She only felt more warmth in her soul when she realized he did it not because she was his bodyguard, but his sister, and he loved her just as much as she loved him.

The train form was the best thing to happen to him really, at least she thought. It was the best by far, able to span miles at a whim, and carry entire battlefields worth of souls to their final destinations easily and quickly. She praised those who gave the idea of the train by gifting them a spot of extra vitality across the family line. They became the first of their kind to last over a century consistently, a grand title considering the rest often died age thirty at best.

Her brother’s whistle now shrilly pierced the air, echoing across continents, but never hauntingly, no. Her brother wasn’t in it to frighten people any more than they already were when seeing him or her. And when a few worthy souls—she’d checked into them, noting how they’d died in a train accident and yet didn’t fear Hott at all—She got yet another brilliant idea. Chalice was well aware how haggard their Domain constantly was. The only shared Domain of any of the gods---though she suspected another Domain had indeed taken a liking to her, perhaps one dealing with war, but she never tried to confirm it—their was almost constantly stretched one inch too far. Death was a massive deal, and it wasn’t limited to the beyond fragile candy people, or the fleeting bug species strolling about.

She’d looked into the potential of handing her brother off to a crew, letting them do her job onboard while she split off. Oh how she had looked into it. She’d even interviewed the families, double checking them meticulously. Once they’d passed, she put her brother’s safety into their hands, watched one of the brakemen accidentally trip Hott up into ramming a deer, contemplated her after-life choices, said to hell with it, and went on ahead. If they failed, _she’d make them wish for a second death they’d never see._

====-====-====-====

With her new freedom, she scouted ahead, crushing the fighting spirts down easily, with so many centuries of practice, they no longer even slowed her down. She was almost like a machine, methodically carving a safe path for her brother to follow, picking up spirits far faster than before. Stops that had once been required to force souls onto Hott’s many carriages all but ceased to exist. She and Hott became so good at their jobs, their Domain flat out wept with the lack of strain it was now under.

Now, there was something neither sibling considered when branching out.

Before, the sight of Hott and Chalice together was a sign that their loved one was finally passing on, being put to a proper rest. Though not always happy, people still praised them, thanked them, wished them a safe journey with the cargo now on board, and it was nice. Chalice loved the attention that had returned to her. She’d missed it and didn’t even realize the fact.

Her brother always got a bit embarrassed at the little mortals thanking him so earnestly, it was so cute.

But now that she wasn’t with him, people started seeing her apart from her brother. She thought at first, “Good, let me be the herald of my brother’s arrival. Let them see me and know their loved one is soon to rest!” She was content with it.

Until a mother wailed at the sight of her, pleading for the son she couldn’t see to stop raging so about his demise. She’d rattled on into the coffin that held the body while her son, once bright with indignation, sat slumped against the thing next to her, pleading for her to stop crying. He’d stared up at her, defeated, and pleaded to her.

“Please goddess, I ain’t gonna fight anymore. I ain’t gonna bash your brother, just _leave!_ Don’t hurt my mama, please. She hurts enough, can’t you see?”

So, Chalice did as requested, moving on autopilot.

Anyone else would have seen that as a good sign, a sign that spirits would now take one look at her, even in passing, and settle down, awaiting her brother, speeding them up even more. But, they hadn’t been happy to see her. Though she did send fear through them, it wasn’t the kind she wanted. There was no reverence in those great heaving sobs. Chalice brushed it off, figuring it was simply a grieving mother and a son realizing the error of his malice. Really, she thought, that was a good thing. They’d get used to her being the first sign of the Phantom Express and the praise would begin again.

It didn’t.

People saw her not as a sign that Hott was soon coming, but that their loved ones weren’t at rest, that all the things the living had done for the dead wasn’t enough to settle the soul. They didn’t see it the way she thought they would. They saw her as a bad omen. There was no praise given to her.

Oh they praised her brother! They praised him even more than they had before! Chalice who’d _always_ been praised, felt…bitter. She tried to stomp the bitterness down, especially as it was aimed at her brother. But it was so _hard._ Even more so when he began hanging back from her, taking longer to reach where she’d previously been. It as if he _knew and wanted the praise to himself._

She _hated_ it.

====-====-====-====

Thousands of years, all of it, given to the mortals, even longer if she considered her thousand years alive. Not a single spot of praise to be found. Not a word of thanks for her putting their griping relatives to a point where they could indeed rest.

She began to avoid her brother, as the one time he’d caught up to her, expressing worry for her “odd change in behavior” he’d told her a different story.

“Chalice, sister dear, they tell me how they love you! How they may fear you at first, but when the tears dry, they remember how you give them the ability to board my carriages!” He’d told her.

She wished she could believe him.

====-====-====-====

If people didn’t want to see her, then she wouldn’t be seen. She instead simply drifted around, reaping souls when the mood struck her, cutting down whoever fell under her ire. She didn’t care about the demands for explanations, cutting those people apart too. When word got to her of her brother under the effects of devious souls, she hadn’t believed it. He may have been a pacifist, but he wasn’t exactly one to just lay over and let some wretch of a mortal take over.

Chalice ignored it at first, but when word continued to spread, and even began to fill with more and more mortals whispering of ways to fix Hott, she grew _bitter._

Even now, people still feared her presence, she could see it in their eyes, not a spec of adoration, not a drop of thankfulness. But Hott, oh he was adored so greatly the mortals began to speak to their loved ones more, swearing to never cause such problems for Hott upon death. Some of the more magically inclined began to look into banishing the souls, not a single person expressed fear _of_ the Phantom Express.

She **_hated it._**

====-====-====-====

Upon finding herself on Inkwell, she _laughed._ Her high-pitched cackles tinged with insanity rang out for four days. None of the other gods either cared or had the courage to tell her to stop. Her brother’s whistle almost seemed to respond to her, screeching an unnerving tune across the whole of Inkwell. Whether it truly had, she didn’t care.

She hadn’t cared when the crew approached her, she wouldn’t care now. Her brother could rot along side her for all she cared. After a few years, she even bothered to stroll over to see the Express herself for the first time in a long time. When he’d blazed past, a writhing mass of souls attached to his face, she’d laughed once more. A sneering grin greeted any of those who decided to peer out their windows. When a spot of Hott’s blood splashed her cheek, the result of a ghost clawing into his cheek, she licked it off, and left.

====-====-====-====

The boy had been an odd surprise, but pleasant none the less. She’d always had a bit of a weak spot for porcelain sorts, as they tended to be the easiest to handle, and the rarest for her to face. He was young too, an age she herself didn’t even remember being. But he was cute, and his softer colors would be the perfect compliment for the rest of her corpses rather poor color schemes. Rot never _did_ look good…

But he escaped, taken from her by Grim. And while she minded a tad, missing her chance to crush yet another mortal, giving them an agonizing death for betraying her the way they had, she didn’t linger on it long. Not until his equally cute brother appeared.

She met him on the first Isle, and, assuming he’d have many of the same mannerisms as the first, decided she’d play a little game with him. He was a god anyway, she couldn’t kill him the way she could the other. But he didn’t play along.

He shot her.

_It hurt._

She’d been stunned at first, not believing some little brat would dare raise his hand to the goddess who struck fear into even Rumor Honeybottoms. But the _agony, oh the **agony.**_ It burned through her. Piercing through over and over, as she had done to thousands of souls before.

_It hurt._

She raged, tearing into her mausoleum so viciously the other gods not reeling from their own run in actively moved away from the area. Her second one, broken as it was, didn’t give her any reprieve nor things to smash. So she’d moved onto the third one. Flickering with rage so powerful it eclipsed the pain, she ripped into the bodies there, shredding them, fueling her rage.

_She was going to kill the little **brat.**_

He was young, weak, likely tired from getting his pretty little hands dirty for the first time in his likely pampered life. He wouldn’t stand a chance to her sheer fury.

But he shot her again, without even looking her way.

**_It hurt._ **

She fell to the floor, thrashing wildly, slamming her fists into the marble, cracking it with her strength. Screaming to the heavens above, she cursed the child. Chest heaving, she swore _revenge._

**_She HURT._ **

But if **she** had to hurt, **_then so did he._**

_She’d make him **wail** until he fixed what he did to her, and then? **She’d crush his precious sibling right before his eyes.**_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why yes, there are indeed two gods I didn't include. Those two are so special they'll get their own chapter later.   
> So! Not including them, y'all have a favorite of the bunch now? Or has it changed now that the other's on Isle three have been expanded on?
> 
> You wish i had included something in this, 31 pages, 17,942 words of writing? That's nice, I wish I had a pony.   
> Just kidding, go ahead and ask. No please, I love comments. They make me happy.


	22. Intermission Inkwell Isle 3.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or is it?

Devil remembered the earlier years of his life. Out of all the gods, he was the outlier, the oddity. No one knew where he came from, nor did many care to find out. He was a rage fueled beast in the early days, tearing across the world, wrecking everything he came across. It seemed as if nothing could soothe him, despite all the attempts made. The attempts, which—if anyone asked him—he would describe with nothing but laughter, cold, cruel laughter.

He remembered the chains, the flames, the melted silver and gold and iron, all of it. The countless ideas that left bodies torn to pieces at his feet the moment he broke free. He was around before even Elder Kettle, but was understood even less despite the man and his brother’s best efforts. It wasn’t like he openly offered up any answers though, even if he’d somewhat settled by the time more deities popped up. His wrath burned brighter than any need to have any form of company, so any answers asked were most often met with violence.

He’d hear the gods and their Domains whispering to one another, remarking about him, muttering minor fears about how no one had ever seen his sibling. He didn’t care for them and that question, not one bit. Not because he didn’t have a sibling, but because he didn’t think they needed to know. He didn’t care to sate their curiosity when his own rage continued to fester.

That, and he was petty.

Hell, even more so.

====-====-====-====

He sometimes sat in Hell, just watching the dead things that were shoved in for whatever reason. He used to rip souls to pieces, uncaring if they reformed or not, simply because he’d do it again if they did, and if they didn’t, more would take their place. He was content, bored, but content. Hell too, was content, though no one but him would ever know that. It was the same for the other place in that way, with no one but the rulers ever knowing what the realm was thinking.

At one-point people decided it meant Hell was his Domain, he didn’t say anything to support that idea or deny it. Far too amused with how confused it left people. He cherished his ability to not only strike fear in mortals, but confuse them at the same time. Sure, some got back by sacrificing a metric ton of babies to him—if he heard one more baby cry he was going to test his own immortality—and others went the goat or cat route—the goats smelled like cheese, and he had no idea why, and he hated how that lack of knowledge scared him. But for the most part, they simply _feared_ him, even the other gods. Despite their own immortality, they avoided him like the plague.

He and the Express had a deal with one other, mostly because they had to, and sure, after a while, the train grew on him. He didn’t go out of his way to ruin its day that was for sure. Chalice too, he didn’t truly hate, oh he liked her less than the Express, but only because she always acted like a fight with him would be a warm-up to her one second, then stammering at the sight of him the next. He hated all of the rest. Some he hadn’t even met face to face before he decided he hated them.

All, except one.

He knew there’d been someone else that had appeared, someone that was a deity, with a sibling and everything, early on. He remembered, in the haze of anger, a recurring person who always seemed to show up right when the mortals had caught him for their next attempt at destroying him. Their face always changed, but he recognized the look in those vivid green eyes. He was far too angry for far too long to properly meet them however, and it irked him. He _knew_ they were the reason he didn’t suffer long in the presence of morons. Mostly because something _always_ interrupted things right as it was getting worse.

When molten gold was being poured down his throat, the person holding the pot would lose their grip before they could move the pot further up his face to his eyes. When they tried boiling him in liquid silver, the cauldron he was above would crack for no reason. It would have been perfectly fine for the entire time it took to heat the metal, but once he was being tossed in, it broke, spilling metal across the feet around him. That one in particular still made his day. Other times, the mortals were able to go through with his torture, but when he looked back on it, those time happened mostly when he was on a nasty streak of crushing everything around him, loudly proclaiming that nothing could save them. He’d still see that person, but their eyes would be some other color, and in those times, it was the _way_ _they smiled_ that told him who they were.

He hated them at first, just as he hated everyone. He wished for nothing more than to be able to tear the flesh from that person, rip their eyes out, and devour their soul. It was as if that person knew it too, because they only ever appeared when he was chained. As if that was the only time they were willing to let him find them. He knew they started showing up after Elder Kettle, and that was it. He knew nothing else about them, not their Domain, not their reasons, not even their name. Any attempts at asking mortals trapped with him, or the other gods, most often left him with nothing more than irritation to show for his efforts.

He wondered if they were just as petty as him.

====-====-====-=====

Of course, four centuries into his cooler mood give or take, he started changing his methods. The other gods were morons, always blustering their way to the answers they wanted, bruising the question until it gave up. He, however, despite popular opinion, was not nearly so mindless. He knew that the person wasn’t going to let him approach. He’d tried it before, and was met with a sharp smile, a teasing laugh, and a paper smacking into his face, ensuring he never saw them leave.

He’d even tried peace offerings, but the people who spotted him would scream, and whatever he left behind was promptly destroyed. He wiped a few villages off the face of the planet for a few particularly hard to get peace offerings. That only seemed to make them draw back further, but that was how he came up with a better idea. He’d brainstormed to a bunch of entirely terrified but confused souls in Hell, pacing all while the world around him gave its best impression of an eye roll.

He tried traps next, because Hell told him to, and he had no reason to believe his own traps wouldn’t work.

They not only didn’t work, they backfired so spectacularly he found himself at a loss for words. The best trappers in the world that sat in Hell were baffled as well, as they’d been sure their methods too, could never fail in so grand a way. On one of the traps, he found a pair of dice, sitting innocently with the ones facing up. He’d laughed that time, holding the dice in a loose grip, verbally acknowledging his defeat to someone he wasn’t even sure was around.

====-====-====-====

His next method came from the very dice he kept with him. He’d watched a few people playing games here or there during his brief strolls topside—when Hell boot him out for being too annoying actually, not that anyone would _ever_ know that. He found the games silly, pointless, even more so than the scant few mortals who—upon figuring out that gods gave them things if they did the same—tried to make deals with him. Only a handful had ever tried that, and considering it was when he was a roaring ball of wrath, it was easy to guess just what happened to those people.

But, watching them play gave him something he wouldn’t have gotten otherwise. One day, while watching a particularly hot match between a group of mortals, he’d spotted the one he’d been chasing after. The group had been trying to determine who would be the unlucky bastards to explore a cave they’d discovered for any possible riches. He was certain the group was just a band of roaming thugs, and at first, he’d been confused as to what would tempt the other to linger.

He hid himself from their sight, doing what the other was, and observed.

It was indeed a group of thugs, thirty in number. Though the leader liked to boast about how he was merely playing to give the others a chance to take the glory of finding wealth, Devil could smell the fear pouring from the man. A few others nervously mentioned the rumors going on about the cave, how those that went in, often came out scared out of their wits, if they ever came out at all. But the chief waved his hands, scoffing at the rumors. He declared whichever three got the lowest rolls would enter the cave while the rest would wait outside.

“If there’s any trouble, we’ll just rush whatever attacks the three in there! It’ll be fine!”

No one missed how he didn’t roll. In fact, they complained. They began to grumble, wondering if he was lying about the cave being safe. Angrily, he shouted at them, threatening to behead those who spoke ill of him. But, to avoid a riot out for his blood, he indeed picked the dice up, and tossed them into the air.

High above, lazily draped like a noble in the branches shrouding the group from the sun, the one Devil had been after, _grinned._ Devil felt his skin crawl, felt his own lips curl up into an equally _nasty grin._

The deity’s eyes flashed green, and the dice landed.

Two ones stared up at the group, the only time that roll had come up in all the tosses.

Devil almost melted.

He remained in place as the trio, including the leader who couldn’t go back on his word without it being the end of him entered the cave. The rest remained outside, unaware of two gods, sitting much like a predator watching their prey simply because it entertained the predator. Devil rather admired how the other made sitting in a tree look so regal, he knew full well and good he would have been spitting out leaves by now. The other who didn’t seem to have noticed him, far too interested in the group to truly observe his surroundings. Devil took full advantage of that, anticipation making him drool. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do when he caught the other, be it tearing him apart or not, he didn’t know.

What he _did_ know, was that grin, full of gleaming teeth, was still present. When the screaming started, that was when he knew why. He watched as the group of thirty alternated between running headfirst into the cave, weapons at the ready, and running to hide behind trees. Devil dipped into the shadows, aiming to figure out what was causing such fright in the cave.

It was a snake, a massive one, and it had already downed three, fangs tearing out throats, far too big to simply pierce. Devil snorted, amused at the creature’s foul temper. It crushed two more with a mighty swing of its heavy tail, constricted a third to the point where his body burst from the pressure. But the rest began to wise up, fighting back. The chief cowered behind all of them, watching and shouting useless cheers, and Devil? Well, he was never one to sit idly by when there was fun to be had.

Hell heard him, a breathy laugh bubbling deep in its depths, and from the shadows beside him, a _far worse beast entered._ He wouldn’t ever know just why he let the manticore out simply because one coward would likely escape with his life, since he didn’t usually care about that. But there it was, picking up where the wounded snake left off, shredding the three beside the chief with a single swipe of its claws. Devil returned to the clearing as the people began to stream out of the cave, running for their lives.

Two bright green eyes stared at him, twinkling with dark humor, full lips pulled up in a coy smile. If someone told Devil he’d found the goddess of beauty, he’d have believed them, then he’d have smacked them for talking to him like they had any right to. He’d seen few prettier women before, even fewer pretty men. But, hell, _he_ could become prettier, but the _way_ she smiled, the way her lips only pulled up higher as the manticore burst out, letting out a beastly roar, he feared he truly had melted right then and there into a puddle.

He must have gotten lost in his mind somehow, that, or it was the beast charging into him, forgetting its place in all its bloodlust, but when he next looked up, the deity was gone. He let Hell have the thing back, amusement simmering low in his gut.

So, they liked games did they? Then, Devil figured, he’d have to learn a few if he wanted to have an even better chance of grabbing the flighty deity.

====-====-====-====

If Hell found his new obsession strange, it didn’t care to say. Devil knew that was simply because it liked him more when he wasn’t a mindless beast, ripping across the lands, decimating everything in his path. Devil didn’t even remember what had made him so angry at first, the memories scorched to ashes from the heat of his rage. Devil didn’t care either, not one to linger too long on things in the past that were useless to him. It must have been all that time surrounded by frankly horrible mortals, who remained horrible even in death, but he didn’t much care for them. He didn’t truly hate them, there was no reason to, but he never went out of his way to help them.

But, learning games meant joining them, which meant he had to dust off his shape-shifting. He made mistakes at first, and every game he played usually ended with someone screaming at the flaw, and either running from him or trying to kill him. The ones who ran away, he decided were smart, and thus, deserved to live. But as he got better, the games got longer, and soon, people started to whisper once more. Devil didn’t much care to change his form if the one he was in suited him for the time. So people began to speak of a handsome stranger, often appearing from seemingly nowhere to join games. They spoke of how he would start a novice, and leave undefeatable.

Devil waited, growing better and better with every game he played, but still, he never spotted the other. Not even when a winning streak suddenly collapsed on him. Even when he sat with the loudest mouths in the room, hoping their bold talk would entice the other. But as time went on, and he didn’t spot the other, he began to wonder if there was something else to it he was missing. So, he went on the hunt once more.

====-====-====-====

Just because he wasn’t as angry, didn’t mean people still didn’t find ways to call back on those times to have an excuse to try binding him. Oh they used every excuse under the sun, but ‘you are a danger that must be controlled’ was the most common. Devil hated them, and he noticed how no other gods seemed bothered by that sort of thinking. Even some of the rowdier ones got away with things he didn’t. He hated it, hated them, and made it his goal to devour those who dared to try making him do what they wanted.

This time was different. The person, the bat, was rather confident they had figured out just what made him tick, how to get him to do what they wanted. They didn’t trust him or the wish granting god, but they figured they knew how to make Devil give them what they wanted. Devil scowled, fur rippling, body unable to shift, not with the collar binding him the way it was.

They pulled out a pair of dice.

As if summoned, two bright green eyes gazed out of the shadows at him.

They demanded a game, bragged about how they’d learned of his habit of playing games, which to them, meant he _must_ have been granting desires to winners. Devil didn’t care about them anymore, not when _he_ was there, _so close_. His face must have changed, because the bat cheered, boasting loudly about how right they were.

Devil returned his focus to them, and, oh so slowly, a _grin_ grew across his face.

“Very well. I’ll play your game, and if you win, I’ll grant you the thing you desire,” The bat opened their mouth to tell him which game, he held up a lone finger, eyes glowing brighter and brighter with every beat of his pounding heart. “If you _lose_ , I destroy you and everything you care for. Deal?” He stretched his hand out, mouth stretched up unnaturally wide. The bat smacked his hand, gripping it as tightly as they could, giving it one hearty shake. He let them.

Green eyes began to prowl around the edge of the light, teasing flashes of cloth, of skin. An easy, slow pace, matching the pace of the game.

Devil imagined breaking those legs, just to see if those eyes would continue to stare at him the way they were. Like a cat who had found a particularly interesting toy. The game never seemed to go in anyone’s favor. One moment, Devil would be winning, the next, the bat. He was half tempted to just let the bat win, sure it would annoy the other. His pride however, refused, demanding he play to the end. He was far more prideful than petty, so he played, putting more effort into it than he had.

“What could you even want that you can’t just get for yourself?” He asked, conversationally, three-fourths of the way through the game. The bat eyed him, openly debating whether they should reveal their desire before they’d won. But, with the game as close as it was, the bat figured it wouldn’t hurt.

“I want power, I want the strength to destroy the one who ruined my family. But my magic as it is isn’t near strong enough, and that wretch went to the wish god. There’s no way that god would grant my wish if he knew I was going to use what he gave to spill blood. So I chose to come to you. I read of others doing the same.”

“Then you must have read what I did to them.”

“Yes, but I’m better than them. I’ve already lasted longer than they have, and I saw you try to escape and fail.”

Green eyes flashed brighter, practically glowing with mirth.

“Besides, I figure, even if I lose, the fact that you’re unable to escape means it doesn’t matter whether I win or lose. You have to do as I say anyway if you ever want to leave.”

Devil heard Hell cackle, and simply couldn’t help but join. Not because what the bat said was outright hilarious, but because of how green eyes narrowed _deliciously._

“Is that so?” He hissed, claws embedding deep into stone, collar humming louder, struggling to contain the sudden rush of power. The bat didn’t seem to get any more nervous, clearly confident in the magic holding him. Devil sat back on his heels, letting the light from the candles around him catch the white of his teeth. The bat nodded, and tossed the dice into the air.

Time seemed to slow down right then, and between one blink and the next, the one he’d been chasing after was fully illuminated. A pearly white die with violet dots suspended over royal violet clothing draped elegantly over a body he couldn’t see. Another blink, mostly to check and make sure his eyes weren’t suddenly broken and making up things, and two _bright_ green eyes were just a breath from his own red ones.

_“Entertain me, won’t you?”_

The dice landed in Devil’s favor, the magic binding him broke, a break in the circle that hadn’t been there before allowing the full force of his power to escape. The collar snapped like a twig, dented metal clanging to the floor, followed by the arm that had tossed the dice up. The bat barely got their mouth open before Devil was driving his claws into their face, locking their jaw in place as hellfire began to flicker across his frame.

Their soul readily gave up all the things they feared, the things they cared for, the things they desired…and he inhaled it all, took it in, memorized it. When he found their soul, bound by Hell, shackled as he had been, he dropped the bat’s family at their feet, or rather, the _remains._

All the while, the other watched him work, coy smile ever present on an ever-changing face.

====-====-====-====

He had been finishing up with tearing the soul out of someone who decided to cheat him, when he noticed that he hadn’t seen the deity for a handful of weeks. He didn’t openly admit to being worried, but he certainly brutalized the person far less than he would have. Hell called him nervous, he called Hell a festering pit of sin.

Hell preened.

He tossed the soul down, grumbling even as he began searching for that familiar smile. Sure, the god wasn’t always there, sometimes leaving him in the dust for days on end. But Devil had learned enough about what normally attracted the other, so he knew vaguely how to get the other to come to him. Sometimes he wondered if the other did it just because he found it funny that Devil thought he understood the other any more than he had centuries ago.

Then he caught wind of a cult going around with the intent to lock gods away, use them all without needing to give anything. He laughed at first. If he, a god himself, had trouble catching a single deity, what chance did those mortals have, he thought. The idea of getting to watch an epic beat down was enough though, and he hurried to where he knew the cult to be.

He remembered sitting there, on the rafters, watching the cultists. They spoke boldly, arrogantly, and he could see why. Before them, in a small jar marked with runes that practically oozed power, sat one of the victory gods. He didn’t care about that though. He didn’t care when they brought up how their next goal was the Goddess of home and hearth. Didn’t much care to listen to some say how Djimmi should be their next target. He cared only about the other jar. In a rather ornate jar, differing from the victory gods own, sat the one he’d chased after for centuries.

There wasn’t any blood to be seen on the jar, no scuff marks or cracks or signs that the jar had been roughed up like the other god’s had. It was clear the victory god fought even now to escape, loudly shouting but barely heard, even by Devil, how they’d regret what they’d done. The closest one nudged one of the apparent leaders, the most obnoxious one, and told him what the toad had declared. The mortal snickered, then chuckled, then guffawed, leaning heavily on the table by the end of it.

The dog had snatched up _his_ Deities jar, bottle really, it was a tiny little container. The one who’d been sitting quietly in the center barely caught himself before he slammed into the side.

“What? I’d have agreed with you earlier but now? Not with Luck on our side.” He’d shaken the bottle then, rattling the one inside. Devil felt odd, ears ringing, body unmoving.

Slowly, so _slowly_ , his mouth pulled up, curling into a dark grin.

====-====-====-====

The cult went back for the other victory god, fearing the ferocity of the rest of the gods. They’d heard of the other factions losing spectacularly to their targets. Even when they demanded Croaks give them victory, the losses continued. Croaks had glared at them, bruised and battered from being shaken around in a jar that forced his magic to obey it, leaving him bloody instead of healed like it should have been doing. When they tried the same for the other, a foreboding feeling would descend on them, leaving them to threaten him.

King Dice, centuries in, and only now did Devil have a name. He almost laughed, he would later, when he was basking in the wailing cries of the fools below him. He followed them, surprised at how they roughed up one but not the other. He would have questioned it, but by the end of the week, they were back at the temple that held the other victory god. They’d shaken Croaks so badly even Devil winced, needless to say, when Ribby, still sore after the last battle, spotted his sibling in such a sorry state, he didn’t even begin to hold back.

Devil watched, almost impressed at how well organized the cultists were. The one holding King Dice,

_King Dice, God of Fortune and Luck, his name, that was his name._

They smacked the side of the bottle, hissing at the one inside who returned the glare with a cool stare. Another pair of eyes peeked out of the deity’s collar, staring at them balefully. They rattled the bottle in return as one of their own sailed over their head, torso crushed like paper. King Dice scowled as he was slammed around, and Devil felt that odd sensation creep through him once more. Ribby was trying, but he wasn’t used to fighting alone, not after centuries of having a partner in crime. The cultists weren’t stupid either, they had surprising knowledge of runes and were doing an admirable job at wearing him down.

As the other viciously shook the bottle, as a crack broke across the god’s face, Devil watched, waiting.

Two acidic green eyes _finally_ looked up at him.

_Entertain me, won’t you?_

Devil descended in the shadows, taking those furthest from Ribby. Tearing them to pieces, driving multiple hands into bodies, tearing out bones and organs. Silent, he was silent in his actions, hushing the cultists before they could even scream. He cut a ferocious path towards his goal, unseen until it was too late. Until finally, _finally_ he was holding the throat of the cultist, shadows dripping from him like hellfire would have had he let it. But he wouldn’t, not when it was far more fun to let the brutal cruelty of a brother enraged at the state of family go. Croaks wasn’t important to him anyway, whatever they’d done to Croaks, Devil saw no reason to _interrupt_.

In his hand, the one not tearing the very soul from the cultist, sat the other. Despite the crack, Devil was certain he hadn’t seen anything so lovely before. Especially not something so lovely, trapped so _beautifully._ Even so…

His claw dug into the top of the bottle, ripping it clean out with a casual flick.

In his arms, soft chest pressing against his own, stood the other. The deity didn’t even spare a glance at the cultist, gasping, choking on blood. Green focused on deep red. Lips painted a bright red quirked up into an _oh so nice_ coy smile. The deity hummed, delicate hands resting against his shoulders, not gripping, but not moving either. Devil felt amusement burn brighter and brighter in his chest, excitement coiling in his throat and abdomen. The other leaned closer, pressing an elegant body along his own. Lips hovering inches from his own, eyes, shining bright green with cruel amusement.

_‘More.’_

====-====-====-===

Ribby refused to speak of what had happened, punching any who asked, demanding they never bring it up around his brother. Devil wasn’t sure if he knew he hadn’t been the only one bringing every single cultist to ruin, but he didn’t really care. If anything, it would make Ribby fear him more, which suited him just fine. He didn’t want any distractions, not when the game had begun again, the dance started anew.

Even knowing his name, Devil found it just as hard to understand the other as before. His claws itched to bury themselves in the others throat. He wondered if King Dices voice would become his if he tore it from the other. He _grinned at the thought._

====-====-====-====

When the gods began to fall to their own arrogance, greed, desires and more, Devil could admit he feared the one he’d been playing with would fall too. For centuries, the two continued their game, with Devil constantly chasing after someone who simply never fell into his grasp. The other would stop here or there, for reasons Devil never truly understood, and he’d watch. He continued to play games with mortals, even when the games shifted into odd dares, odd deals.

Why someone challenged him to a lyre battle, he would _never_ know. He _still_ thought they were morons for wanting a golden lyre for their trophy, gold sounded _awful_. He hoped the moron enjoyed losing any and all chances of gaining fame all for a shiny hunk of metal.

Their game continued, strong as ever, and Devil never found himself bored, never found himself wanting to end the game quickly. They even added more games to it. Sometimes, they’d each pick a mortal during a game, placing bets on which would win. When Devil’s won, he was allowed a few steps closer to the other, but when King Dice’s won, Devil lost ground. Devil didn’t know when, but people began to not whisper, but _talk_ about him. They searched for him, challenging him. He’d agree, playing the game as requested. He didn’t always win, but he didn’t mind. Those mortals weren’t part of the other games, they were a side thing. Then, when he heard mortals speaking _favorably_ of him over the other deities, he found himself breaking into unholy cackles.

He chose to continue that trend, he didn’t _let_ mortals win, but he didn’t murder them outright when they called him. He listened, even gave what Djimmi or the others should have. In doing so, the other gods began to whisper once more about him.

It wasn’t near as favorable as the chatter the mortals partook in.

Devil found that even funnier.

He found it especially funny when gods began to approach King Dice, interrupting their game, to warn the deity. King Dice would always laugh at them, sometimes a light chuckle, other times, a boldly vicious snicker. He’d wave them off, or he’d politely thank them. Devil’s personal favorite had to be the time a head of one of the temples approached the god, stammering a greeting. King Dice had sweetly smiled, perfectly warm gaze stunning the other. Though, Devil knew it wasn’t _just_ the smile. King Dice had listened, thanking them for the caring words, even pecking them on the cheek, leaving them a bumbling mess.

Days later, that man was found dead, chest burned to ash, face mauled beyond recognition. As it was Grim’s temple, everyone simply assumed it was Grim.

Devil was glad his fellow player hadn’t even the slightest sign of corruption. No, he supposed King Dice wouldn’t have found corruption _entertaining enough._

====-====-====-====

Of course, even as the mortals began to like him, things couldn’t continue going smoothly. Really, Devil _knew_ there was a reason he disliked Elder Kettle the most. He didn’t even know how the god achieved it, nor did Hell. But one fine day, when he was getting ready to scare a few souls or ten, and leave for more mischief, he found himself unable to. He tried over and over, only to find a barrier blocking his every route. He found the worst part to be that the barrier cut him off from a vast majority of Hell.

Hell raged more than he did.

He stood on the edge of the barrier, looking out to the roiling land below, listening as Hell screamed its anger at Elder Kettle. Devil wasn’t cut off from Hell, not entirely, but it was enough. He wasn’t exactly happy either, and if he spent a good few years plotting every single way there was to make a deity suffer, well, there was no one to see it. At least, not at first. But it seemed like with time came bold attitudes. The gods whose names his own replaced in prayers came for him. He knew they were angry, especially the gilded goddess of death. So he sealed his home up.

When even Djimmi failed to break through, he made sure to be visible when he mocked them.

His game interrupted, he decided to wait. When King Dice didn’t show up, not even five years later, he felt a pit grow in his chest. He had originally assumed King Dice was on the Isles as well, and was either dealing with the other idiots, or hiding from them, or he was trapped by them. Devil wouldn’t have put it past a few of them now, to get it in their heads that a spot of Luck could break them free. Considering not even Hell could break the barrier, Devil had no doubt King Dice would have been useless. Luck and Chance did nothing in the face of what simply was. The barrier was, and it wasn’t going to change any time soon. So he searched around, looking for the other. Being trapped wasn’t how he’d hoped to win, but he wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Hell had teased him, easily pointing out how he’d done nothing to stop King Dice from leaving before, even when he’d had the other in his arms.

Devil called Hell a rat bitch.

Hell cackled.

====-====-====-====

Devil learned King Dice wasn’t on Inkwell, somehow, he’d escaped the cage. Devil had laughed at that, as he sat with his back on the barrier, the rest of Hell lost to him for as long as the barrier was up. He laughed, because the one who’d been locked away in a tiny bottle, had somehow avoided a massive cage Devil had not.

He bet it was the pretty faces King Dice loved to wear when dealing with mortals simply to make them squirm. He decided he’d tease him about it when they finally met back up, when the barrier collapsed. Devil had been locked away before, countless times, across countless years. If there was one thing he knew about barriers, it was that they inevitably gained a weakness. Be it in the medium that kept them in place, or the person powering them. Devil could wait for however long it took.

Deep down though, he wondered how long it would take for the other to grow _bored._

====-====-====-====

A good century plus was his answer. Except, he didn’t actually think that was the full answer. Not with how King Dice _smiled._ He’d found the other, chased by the other gods, all out for answers or blood. Devil wasn’t even remotely amazed at how rabid those outside had become. He _was_ a tad ashamed when there wasn’t any hesitation in his actions. He looked back on it, believing how he should have waited for King Dice to _demand_ once more. He should have sent out the manticore _after_ the other felt the full brunt of gods far too lost in bitter rage to care about civility. But he hadn’t. Within a day, King Dice sat across from him, legs crossed, letting pearly white flesh gleam in the bright lights of Hell.

Though King Dice hadn’t said a word, Devil knew _exactly_ what that amused tilt meant on those lips. He’d let his tail coil around a thigh, table doing nothing to barricade the other, and he knew that, both did. King Dice hadn’t reacted, but for a flicker of green. Enough for a chandelier to topple down on him, a clear indicator that the game was strong as ever. Not a hint of the end in sight.

Devil swooned. Hell teased him.

Devil watched the other interact with his lackeys, the ones he’d assigned to watch over his Hell. The god had a number of them wrapped around his finger in a matter of a month. He laughed when Devil teased him about it. Yet still, even when pinned to a wall, with claws digging into skin, King Dice gave nothing to him. Not a single answer to a single question.

He got one when a tiny little mortal appeared, soul bright with an impressive amount of perseverance. Devil found himself laughing, just as King Dice had.

The new game was on, and neither intended to lose.

====-====-====-====

King Dice didn’t much care for boredom. He never had even when he hadn’t had a corporeal form. To him, boredom was the ultimate insult, one he avoided at all costs. Boredom to any deity never meant well for mortals after all. Not that King Dice felt bad for those who fell to his boredom. He never went after people who were boring in the first place. He’d been around for longer than he bothered to remember. He knew he was after Elder Kettle, but, his Domain seemed just as old as the others. He supposed with how intertwined he was with his Domain, he could have been considered just as old as it. Neither so much as spared a half thought for that though.

No, there were far more interesting things to do, to focus on. His sibling, always hidden away, clinging to him, as they’d never wanted a full form in the first place, humored him. Luck and Chance drifted from place to place, never staying in a single location long. He’d learned his lesson the fourth time someone had tried forcing him to stay in one spot. They didn’t understand the two, not even their Domain’s, but they knew good things happened when he was around. They all wanted that, wanted everything he could give and then some, without offering anything to him.

King Dice wasn’t the same as Baroness, or Cala, or even Elder Kettle. He wanted nothing tangible. Tangible would tie him down, he wanted nothing to do with it. He rewarded those who thanked him, frowned at those who tried showering him in heavy gold. Even more so when gold bracelets became shackles, binding him to one location. If it wasn’t bracelets it was necklaces collaring him like a pet. His captivity never lasted long. He wasn’t strong by any stretch of the imagination, but, he didn’t have to be, not with _luck laughing on his shoulders._

The others burned towns, drowned them, devoured them. King Dice left them whole, but infinitely worse off. What use was a town where nothing went right?

====-====-====-====

He changed his face often. A bird one minute, a fox the next, he let Chance decide what he’d be with each shift. None could ever track him that way. They might recognize him briefly, but once he’d done what it was he wanted, he’d be gone before they could react. They’d chase after a wolf, missing the spoon checking her reflection in a well. Few ever saw his true face, the one he’d been born with, something he intentionally done.

People knew of a God of Fortune, they knew of a God of Chance. They knew what he first looked like, then they didn’t. The places keeping his image crumbling to raiders or time. They knew of him enough to build him a temple. One just as grand as the rest. They knew he appeared there often, not enough to know his travel routes, his habits. Never enough to stage a trap to bind him again, _never again._

He’d appear, graciously give blessings of luck here or there, relish in the attention, and vanish once more. He enjoyed it enough to sate his boredom, but not enough to stir his _excitement._

He toyed with people, not out of malice, but because he could. He even toyed with the gods. His Domain would tease the others, mock them, all while the other gods varied between hating and liking him. Chance found it hilarious. King Dice did too.

But, out of all the ones he interacted with, there was one he preferred above all others.

====-====-====-====

He first saw the deity wreathed in unnatural fire, storming through a town, ripping apart buildings and flesh alike. The fury dripping from the other amused him, but amusement didn’t hold him. He sighed, and a building fell on the beastly god. The home that had beckoned him, called for him, was one of the very few spared the gods wrath. The breathless thanks given to him only made him smile wider.

The next time he met up with the other, it was three years later. Three years of the other rending the very land in an undying hatred that burned only brighter, hotter, as time went on. King Dice rarely interacted, not too intrigued by someone driven by a single emotion. He’d hear the other coming, and turn the other way. Not until he found the god shackled, bound by mortals fearful of him. He watched coolly as the mortals drove iron stakes into the deity, loudly praying for the destruction of the one they tormented.

King Dice watched as the beast alternated between wails and roars, enraged and in agony, but too much of both to break free. He rested a hand on his hip, and the chains binding one of his arms snapped, suddenly unable to withstand the thrashing. It was over faster than King Dice cared for.

That continued more and more as time moved on. The other never truly cooled down, always trailing hellfire in his wake, roasting everything in his path. When he was captured, it wouldn’t last long. King Dice would say it hurt his heart to see such a sorry sight. Chance would look at him, eyes focused on the _grin,_ and hum.

====-====-====-====

The other had such odd eyes, King Dice decided, watching the blazing god stare up at him, breaths heaving steam up into the air in thick waves. He’d only ever seen them burning bright red, like fire, but now, they would flicker to a cold black every once in a while. He supposed it shouldn’t surprise him, not with the other being a shape-shifter, but it was interesting all the same. Especially when those eyes would search for him, ignoring the pain brought on him by mortals unwilling to let him continue his war path.

He found it… _entertaining._

====-====-====-====

The other gods were fun of course, he knew better than to have so many who could inevitably over power him if he slipped hate him unconditionally. But they weren’t the same. It was amusing to made Baroness miss a shot so she would have to throw her weapon down and switch to close combat. It was amusing to watch one of Elder Kettles potions backfire on him. It was amusing to listen to the victory brothers mock one another as a battle would switch favors so rapidly.

But to watch as the people sent the other back into the shadows, ripping apart little oddities clearly not meant for them, it was _entertaining._ He found himself following the other every once in a while, admiring the little gifts clearly aimed towards him if the colors were anything to go by. Fine emeralds, rich tourmalines, lustrous peridots, and more, left in odd locations in the hopes he’d take the bait. He didn’t, but some of his worshippers did. His temple gained color simply by means of being there at the right place to find the item. The item that, by chance, would remind them of the eyes of the god they worshipped.

He wondered if the other was trying to thank him for all the times he’d been spared more agony by the other.

He hoped that wasn’t the case.

He _grinned when it wasn’t._

====-====-====-====

The traps were cute. Really, they were. So was the very idea he’d fall for any of them. Not when he was what he was. He’d come across an odd pile of leaves, and as luck would have it, a boar would spring the trap. He’d spy a flash of color in the brush, and a rabbit would be stuck fast to a tree across the clearing, arrow cutting straight through its throat. He made sure the other saw him a few times, teasing him, urging the other to continue the _game._

The way the other stared at him when they locked eyes made King Dice _shudder._

====-====-====-====

He left a pair of dice on one trap, fearing the other would grow bored, or worse, frustrated, with the game if he didn’t offer anything up of his own. Games called to him more than anything else. He _adored them._ They enticed him more than most anything else did, so when the other took his hint, his offering, and did _exactly_ what King Dice had hoped he’d do, he grew _excited._

The god was utter shit at games at first. Fast learner or not, the clumsy games didn’t really interest him, didn’t hold him the way a game between professionals did. He still teased the other, taking a winning streak away without even putting in an ounce of effort. Chance allowed him, even helped him on occasion. His brother wasn’t one to disagree with a spot of amusement here or there.

He soon grew worried the other wasn’t what he thought. That the man was better at rampaging than playing, and boredom curled ice-cold claws into his chest. He decided that he’d leave the other alone for a while, hoping his absence would stir up the other enough to _entertain._

====-====-====-====

For a while, he drifted around, same as he always had. It wasn’t as boring as before, not with the shadows watching. He’d let the other spot him once in a while, other times, he’d be so invested in a game, he wouldn’t even realize the other was present. One such time occurred during a game he’d been observing for a while between bandits.

He didn’t care for the smell they let off, but the petty squabble was enough to keep him around. Especially since the chief had been kissing up to him for a long while. The man must have gotten one too many victories, King Dice supposed, as the man was arrogant to a fault.

So, King Dice supposed a _game_ was in order.

The dice rolled, he _grinned._

So focused he was in reminding people just how fickle he could be, he hadn’t realized he was being watched until the manticore appeared. King Dice just about kissed the other right then and there. Those screams were _wonderful._ But the game was far more important, which meant when the manticore got distracted, and in turn _happened_ to run into Devil, he bailed. The moment he was away, his grin grew to the point where his cheeks hurt, and his face bloomed bright red with a heavy blush. He pressed his hands to his chest, willing the laughter to die down so the butterflies would stop stirring up a hurricane in his stomach.

He hoped dearly that the game continued to get better.

====-====-====-====

He wasn’t disappointed, and he owed Chance for being wrong about Devil. He’d been a bit more cautious for a little while, not willing to give more than he wanted to, to the other. The game wouldn’t be as fun if he didn’t have something to offer, to dangle over Devil’s head. All too aware of how rude it could be to take and take without giving much at all, he left hints, gave treats when Devil was on the right track, but otherwise, he stayed out, hoping his absence would help Devil get _better._

He’d heard the echo of a game while watching a pick-pocket breeze through a crowd, breaking off into an alley with heavy pockets. It called to him, promises of _entertainment_ dripping from its saccharine call. He didn’t even think to ignore it.

Caught again, it seemed more and more like the other actually _liked_ being caught. Green observed red, red bored into green. The _game_ cooed, King Dice _prowled._ Finally, _finally,_ the one who’d chased after him was putting in _effort._ King Dice watched Devil, choosing to let the game go as it was, nudging the dice here or there, to keep it going _longer._ He wondered if he should give the bat a gift for giving him what he’d wanted for decades, centuries even. But the mortal had to ruin it, had to go and sour the game. Luckily for King Dice, _he knew just how to fix that._

Oh how the other _entertained_ him so _beautifully._

The excitement sent a shiver down his spine.

====-====-====-====

Just because he was luck, didn’t mean he always had the best of it. Especially not with how distracted he was with the game. He didn’t even stand half a chance against people who overpowered him physically. Chance tried to help, but found its efforts useless in the face of rune magic both _knew_ had to have been taken from Elder Kettle. They’d been sealed away, for the first time in centuries, then displayed like some trophy. King Dices’ entire being _burned_ with hatred.

He sat in the bottle, the jar, the _prison_ , not sparing a single person even a glance. When they shook him around, he gave in only enough to make them knock it off before he got a headache. Weeks went by, his hatred grew heavier, thicker, demanded revenge he wasn’t strong enough to bring about. He would give Croaks silent responses when the other called for him, simply to stave off the boredom crushing down on him, held off only by his hatred. He wanted those outside, drinking and cheering and celebrating sure victory, to _burn._

The shadows outside twisted, grew darker, and the hatred in him turned to _anticipation._

====-====-====-====

King Dice wondered, as the group stormed the victory temple, just what made the Devil want to play his game. He thought originally it was simply the same reason others had. He thought the other wanted to trap him, lock him away like a trophy the way the mortals did. He couldn’t be sure though, not with having so few face to face interactions with the other. He supposed it couldn’t simply be because of his beauty. Sure, he’d gotten even Djimmi to stutter like a moron a few times, but the other was a shapeshifter. There was no way it was just his face then. He then wondered, as the screaming started, if it could be his Domain.

He’d heard plenty of people say Luck was always on the Devil’s side, that the Devil never lost a game. Some said he cheated, others said he’d wooed King Dice. King Dice ensured those people later wound up face down in ditches, dead long before word could spread. He knew what he _hoped_ it was, but whether he was right or not, he couldn’t tell, not until he truly looked at Devil. When he found red eyes in the shadows, despite the blood sliding down his face, he felt relief coil low in his abdomen.

He watched those eyes grow wide, eager for slaughter, even more eager when seeing what state he was in. There was no pity, no fury on his behalf, nothing of the sort. It was pure, unmitigated, untamed _excitement_.

As the beast held one of his captors by the throat, the one who’d whispered disgusting things to him at night, breathing heavily into the shadows all the things he’d do once all the gods were at their beck and call; King Dice saw _exactly_ what he’d hoped to in vivid red eyes.

Well, if Devil was _oh so willing_ to give him what he wanted, King Dice didn’t see any reason not to _reward him._

“ _More.”_

====-====-====-====

No one would deny King Dice was greedy, not those that knew him at least. And _oh,_ if he wasn’t greedy about the other. He was fully surprised that the other gods hadn’t realized King Dice wasn’t blinded by whatever they thought he was. They warned him, hissing balefully about Devil, as if King Dice was some dainty mortal unable to see past the roses. He’d laughed at them, not cruelly, not at first. He originally thought they were joking with him, but as the warnings continued, spread even, to the other gods worshippers, he found it decidedly _less_ funny.

He _wanted_ the other to play his game, he wanted Devil to _entertain him_. The shredded mortal left at the steps of Grim’s temple left butterflies fluttering in King Dice’s stomach. He almost swooned the next time he saw the other. _Almost,_ he couldn’t give too much away, not if he wanted the game to continue to stay _entertaining._

====-====-====-====

Corruption hit the gods _hard_ , King Dice wasn’t even partially surprised.

Chance owed him.

He knew it had been coming. He wondered if the gods had simply become bored, briefly pitying them. Boredom was such a nasty beast. But that wasn’t the reason, and his pity died a pathetic death. He knew it would have anyway, since, _he_ had _no_ trouble finding means of amusing himself. He was older than Hilda, but did anyone see him sending people into pits of despair? Yes, but mostly when they decided they knew him better than he did.

There was no faster way of getting his ire than claiming he was on their side. He sooner picked the people calling him a fickle bitch as the victors than the others.

He watched his fellow deities collapse to their own faults, blinded exactly how Devil had been. Only, he wasn’t _near_ as tempted to help them as he had been for Devil. He let them tumble into mockeries of themselves, forced to find a quiet place to laugh as the mortals turned their praises even more to him, to Devil. The other had only grown more _entertaining_ as the years had gone on, and King Dice was certain the game would go more smoothly with fewer gods pretending they worried for his safety.

====-====-====-====

Devil was trapped just as always. Only, there was nothing King Dice could do.

No amount of luck broke the barrier. Not a single chance of something happening to make the barrier crack or weaken. Elder Kettle had outdone himself in his desire to get away from his own faults that was for sure. King Dice hoped Elder Kettle suffered exactly as he did with no one to keep the boredom from him.

He tried, hoping to go back to his time before Devil, giving up on ever breaking the thing keeping their game paused. It was useless, and he kept himself as far from Elder Kettle as possible. He didn’t want to risk giving the tin bastard _any_ help. Corruption left a sour taste in his mouth, that was for certain. He turned to his Domain after nearly a century, pleading with it. He had never done so before, but the _boredom burned_.

His Domain had hummed, then hummed some more, then went silent for a year. When it returned, it returned with a shake in its voice.

_For you, I have given up the one favor I had. A darling friend will give you what you want, or not. We are not the **only**_ _fickle ones **.**_ ’

====-====-====-====

The moment word got out that Elder Kettle was caring for children, realization dawned on King Dice. He felt bad for those children, really, he did. No one should have to deal with a god as corrupted as Elder Kettle was with no one help them. But there wasn’t a thing he could do. Besides, it wouldn’t be _fun_ to intervene. When he had prodded at them before, Elder Kettle had glared at him, but he wasn’t _near_ as terrifying as the _things_ that stared at him, seen only because his Domain was so deeply intertwined with him.

Nearly a century into the banishment of the gods, King Dice felt _excitement_ coil in his chest once again.

====-====-====-====

He thought getting through the barrier would have been harder. It wasn’t, and he was genuinely surprised. He was less surprised however, when the gods he didn’t even recognize as the ones he once knew went after him. It was only by his Domain that he kept out of their grasp, but he knew it was only a matter of time, and not a single inch of Inkwell was safe. Luckily for him, Inkwell wasn’t his goal.

He _knew_ the other would have been waiting.

The manticore was a nice touch.

====-====-====-====

“Careful darling, keep acting like that and I’ll start to think you missed me.” King Dice had teased, letting Devil’s tail slide up his leg. The moment the tail gripped him, he returned the gesture. He had no idea chandeliers were such _dangerous_ things, truly he didn’t.

Devil may have been captured more than King Dice, he may have been tormented and tortured more than King Dice. But what he failed so spectacularly in, was knowing how to emote exactly what he wanted to, no more, no less. It was comical how red eyes burned ever brighter with every laugh they pulled from him.

The _grin_ too, was an even nicer touch.

====-====-====-====

The child appeared, and King Dice wished he could have been the reason such wonderful entertainment fell upon the Isles the way it did. But that wasn’t part of the game, it was enough that the child was there at all. Even more so that the child had _a dark shadow._

He’d thought the child would take a few years more, believing their _shadows_ wouldn’t allow Elder Kettle’s corruption to linger around them. He guessed he was wrong then, what with how _young_ the little one was. He’d feel bad for the child later, for now, the _game called._

=====INTERMISSION END======

Cuphead ran into the inky black entrance, unhindered by anything. Of course, a few steps in, his mind helpfully reminded him about how so many had mentioned a barrier. He wondered if the barrier not being there meant Devil knew he was coming. He hoped that meant Devil would be another one of the few who weren’t utterly horrible in every manner of the word.

Sure, Elder Kettle practically hissed anytime the deity was mentioned, and those outside reacted particularly negatively when his name was brought up, but they did the same for each other. For all he knew, the god smelled like petunia’s and left a rainbow in his wake. He didn’t care either way. He was _so close_ to his brother. He could almost feel the presence of the other, just there, behind the door to the grand building that sat on a cliffside overlooking a vast realm. The realm itself felt _far_ less hostile than Inkwell had. If anything, it felt _amused._ Why it was, he also didn’t care.

The air wasn’t foggy, wasn’t hot, his surroundings were dim, but not frightening. All of it only helped boost his mood. Even his Domain seemed to be urging him forward faster. All the things Cuphead had planned on saying went right out the window when he opened the doors, unnatural strength allowing him to practically slam them away, like he was batting them aside. He trotted in, eyes scanning every inch of the place for familiar white and blue.

“Oh my, _someone_ is a little eager.” There was the god that gave him eye strain and a headache, he perked up at the sight of him. He was sitting beside another god, someone decidedly more furry. It was jarring to see such a juxtaposition between the two. Where King Dice sat, back straight, shoulders loose and relaxed, the Devil—there was no one else that could be after all—was slouched. He towered over King Dice, even sitting and slouching, with scruffy fur and tall horns chipped in various places. Gold adorned the beast here and there. But the rest of him was bare of everything but thick fur.

“Nice entrance kid, but I’ll have to deduct a point for not kicking the doors off their hinges and storming the castle.” Devils voice even differed from the fortune gods. It was deep, rough, with an edge to it that made Cuphead instantly glad he wasn’t on the guy’s bad side. He _really_ didn’t want to imagine what happened to people who were, and his Domain was _thankfully_ more distracted by something else to bother reading Devil’s soul.

Movement out of the corner of his eye drew his attention away. Blue eyes, wide with countless emotions running through them, met his, and every single joke he had managed to scrounge together once again pitched themselves into the mental void.

“M…Mugman?” His breath hitched, his hands shook, his body rattled.

“Cuphead?” Mugman seemed equally stunned, equally breathless. Cuphead took a step, then another, taking in the missing arm, the sickly tinge to smooth porcelain. His brother had to lean on a nearby table just to stay upright. A worker, Cuphead guessed, stood behind Mugman, ready to catch him if he fell, which seemed more and more likely with every passing second.

Another step, stronger this time as the excitement overtook the relief. He opened his mouth, despite not knowing exactly what he was going to say, but his brother was crying, his remaining hand was reaching out to Cuphead, and Cuphead _refused_ to make Mugman cry anymore.

He’d made it halfway down the aisle, taking long strides, practically bounding over, when the shriek pierced the air. His body moved without his permission, pulling him to the side, narrowly avoiding a bright flash of gold. He turned, golden eyes finding the Goddess of death easily. She hovered in the air, wailing as blood poured from two gaping wounds in her chest and abdomen.

“Fix what you’ve done to me! Wretched child, fix me!” She wailed. But that wasn’t what Cuphead heard. Devil cursed, hauling King Dice over the table, away from the crazed goddess, shouting something about barriers. That also wasn’t what Cuphead heard.  

What Cuphead heard, was the sound of porcelain shattering. His entire world shrank to that single sound, as it was followed by the sound of something hitting the floor, cracking apart. He turned, body on auto-pilot.

Blue, mixed with pieces of white, broken irreparably. Scattered on the ground, across the floor. Amidst the blue, amidst the white, stained with soul liquid, a single spear shined wickedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahahahahahaa!
> 
> (You all have no idea how proud i am of this chapter, and i hope you like it.)


	23. Purification

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That's right! The grand ending!

Porcelain beings weren’t exactly unique, but they were certainly among the timeless races. If a porcelain being never ran afoul of any danger, they could last thousands of years. With a steady supply of fresh liquid or magic, their soul liquid could ensure their bodies never turned brittle, never dulled with age. There were some who had been around even before Elder Kettle still wandering about. To the average porcelain being, the two children who had been under Elder Kettle’s care would have been viewed as babies, little more than newborns.

Those who listened to Elder Kettle as he sped around the world were appalled at how poorly he’d taken care of them. Children in the timeless class were almost revered by those older than them, simply because making a child was exhausting and not often fruitful. Porcelain had it easier than metal, but they had to deal with the variations just the same. Some children would get bone china and be frail, near translucent, others would get the far sturdier true porcelain. Those whose bodies were of earthenware simply gave up on going out often, fearful of water eroding their bodies faster than their soul liquid could keep up.

This was all readily known by the world at large, so it should have been easy for Elder Kettle to learn exactly what he’d needed to, to ensure the children made it to their adult years, especially with his magical prowess. Yet, not even a year into their discovery, into him taking them to his home, Cuphead managed to roll out of his crib, shattering his arm. He’d been too paralyzed to make a noise, but Mugman, upon seeing his brother not at his side, _wailed._ He’d sobbed and screamed and tossed his tiny hands and feet about. Four potions later, endless streams of apologies, and desperate cuddling that lasted three hours later, the boys were back to normal. Elder Kettle had assumed Mugman would be the one who’d take injuries to either the worst. And feared the day he became a god, wondering just how that would go in a world full of dangers.

Then, Mugman took a spill a bit later, losing half a leg and his entire arm when Cuphead pushed him. Cuphead, much to Elder Kettle’s exasperated horror didn’t hesitate to follow his brother off the side of the bed. Though Cuphead had sustained less damage he’d wailed twice as hard as Mugman. The excessive damage made Elder Kettle wonder if Mugman was the more fragile bone china. He would never truly know, not willing to let anyone else too close to the kids in fear of potential murderers.

He then decided it didn’t matter, and began to try and instill a fear of hurting one another in the children. Mostly by grounding them. Putting a barrier up so they were forced to stay in opposite corners. He didn’t want to imagine a world where an over emotional god would flip their lid just because some mortal accidentally chipped a finger off their brother. He hoped that by making them fear hurting one another, they’d become accustomed to not fighting, and, when seeing the other get hurt, remember being put in a corner and settle down.

During those times, Cuphead would wail and sob, reaching for his brother, who would stare back, unmoving, observing. Elder Kettle didn’t pay much attention to it, putting too much faith in the advice heard in passing on the streets about how to raise children. He certainly didn’t notice when he started shortening the punishment periods simply because the moment Mugman would look at him, big blue eyes wide, earnest, pleading, he’d simply be too weak to say no. Later on, when the boys were on Inkwell and Elder Kettle was reminiscing, he’d see exactly what Mugman had been doing. But before he did, what he took from their early years was that Mugman handled breaking parts of himself better than Cuphead did. Mugman handled things in general better than Cuphead did. Cuphead often went full out with his reactions.

He wouldn’t have been wrong either.

====-====-====-====

Chalice didn’t know any of that, nor would she have cared. Now, in pain the way she was, she would care even less. She was furious, in agony, and willing to tear the one who’d harmed her to pieces if it would cure her of the crushing ache. She seethed, air rippling from the power of her rage. In the corner of her eye, she saw Devil, but, as he wasn’t looking at her, she decided he wasn’t a threat. She didn’t even bother to consider the frazzled god of luck stumbling back to his feet, glaring at the lord of Hell. She believed whole heartedly that the luck god would be one of the easiest to put down if needed, thus, he was ignored.

The lackeys she saw standing in shock behind the dead mortal hardly mattered to her. What mattered most to her was the boy standing stock-still. She focused entirely on him, growing only angrier the longer he ignored her in favor of the dead body. She called for her spear, willing it to return to her so she could bash his head in until he understood what level of pain she was in. But, when the spear moved past the boy, his arm shot out, grabbing it from the air. Even from where she was, she could hear the metal creak under the force of his hold.

When her prized weapon shattered, snapping in two, falling to the shadows by his feet and vanishing entirely, a bead of disbelief began to coil low in her chest. He didn’t move after that, his arm dropped limply to his side as the world began to flicker. The lights struggled to illuminate what was once easy for them. She’d seen the child’s Domain at work though, she wasn’t worried at all.

“That won’t work here you wretch!” She seethed, snapping out between clenched teeth as the agony increased the more time went by. “It didn’t work in Hott’s domain, in Sally’s Domain, and it _certainly_ won’t work here.”

Still, he didn’t respond, but the world stilled, the very air growing tense.

Laughter, uproarious, boisterous, _cruel_ laughter, not from the boy, not from the lackeys, but from the one now slamming his fist on a table. Devil wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, struggling to get a word out between sharp cackles.  King Dice too, was laughing, albeit behind one hand, dark eyes glittering with malicious mirth. Chalice, already in a horrible mood, felt her wrath grow to the point where she could only see red.

“My Domain? Hell? Ha!” Devil got out, wickedly sharp teeth catching the lights. “Hell isn’t my Domain.”

“How _unfortunate_ for you.” King Dice added, smooth voice crisp with sadistic glee.

A drop of water hit her shoulder.

She hissed, another hit her face, sliding into her eye, forcing her to blink. She turned back to her target, still sure she’d be able to take the new deity down. If that meant she had to tear his brother’s soul from her Domain to wave it in his face, she’d do it, do _anything_ to get rid of the pain.

A lone golden eye stared at her, devoid of any emotion. The feather on his back _burned_.

She felt, for the first time in centuries, a wave of fear crash over her, only held at bay by the knowledge that nothing beyond a few droplets had come of his clear temper tantrum.

When something light, ticklish, landed in her soul liquid, she jolted. Reaching in, she pulled out a feather, so dark it looked as if it was sucking in the light. She bit out a curse, dropping it as if it was white-hot. Instead of carpet, it landed on water, and the world went dark.

====-====-====-====

Calling for her spear did nothing. Whatever the boy had done had put it in a place she couldn’t reach. If she was angry before, now, she was too incensed for words to describe. Her entire body shook from the force of her emotions. Through the biting agony, she lowered herself down, determined to use her hands if that’s what it took to make him cure her. He hadn’t moved, still observing her with a face so devoid of anything it almost looked as if he’d lost his soul.

From below her, the water rippled as, deep, rumbling hissing kicked up. She clenched her fists, blind to all but the god.

“You think I haven’t had to fight other gods?” She shouted, blazing towards him, stomping across the surface of the water.  He turned finally, enough that he was half facing her, yet still, his face remained frozen. It was as she got closer that she realized it. His face _wasn’t_ frozen.

The water under her lifted, causing her to stumble, and he fully faced her head on. Now, she could hear his body shrieking, hands scraping from how tightly he clenched them at his sides, gold flashed as the strength of his rage eclipsed what his body could handle. She felt another intense wall of pain slam into her, and it was because of that that she managed to ignore the bolt of fear. She bounded across the last of the small distance between them, confident she could shatter his skull before he could rally his Domain any more than it already was.

He grabbed the fist she threw at his side, body moving as if controlled by strings, jerky motions practically dripping with unfamiliarity. To her, that meant his Domain was still controlling his body, which only boosted her confidence. She wasn’t a warrior goddess for _nothing._ She used the hand he had on hers to lift him from the ground, throwing him across the room. He fell into the water, the surface not even rippling on impact. She reached for her spear once more. Even if it wouldn’t come to her, it was still a part of her, which meant she could at least sense where it was.

It answered her call, directly below her. She threw herself back, running into something instead of gaining distance like she’d wanted to.  She twisted, jabbing her elbow into the thing, only, it didn’t so much as make the other flinch. Turning her head, she was greeted by crocodilian teeth hovering to either side of her head, the jaw they were attached to snapped in two. Chalice dropped low in time to avoid having her head crushed in, stunned beyond words. The thing that stood twice her height observed her, animalistic glee in the golden glow of its eyes.

“Cowering behind your Domain? That won’t save you!” She’d fought past the defenses Sally’s Domain afforded her before, punching the woman the one time she’d tried to get Chalice to be part of a play. By that time, Sally had had plenty of decades to accustom herself to her Domain. Chalice had no doubt the boy would be even easier. Especially when he reappeared, now visibly shaking from the intensity of his anger. To Chalice, even that show of emotion was paltry compared to her suffering. Even as she stood there, taking in her foes, her body begged to just collapse.

She refused to, unwilling to let some fresh little brat not even a tenth of her age judge her. She’d fought through pain before, and unlike her, the child likely didn’t know how to turn his anger into an effective weapon.

“Quite the face you’re making at me, but really, is it any surprise?” She struggled to control the shake in her voice, mind barely staying afloat in the sea of _painpainagonymakeitstop_. She nimbly dodged the Domain’s lunge, watching it slip back into the water. “If I were you, I’d be helping…no, _begging_ the goddess of death, the one who could let me see my _darling_ mortal sibling’s soul. Perhaps say goodbye? Keep it in a jar maybe?” The boys eyes blazed brighter with his heightened anger. She began to shrink the distance between them, not charging, but prowling.

“It wouldn’t be impossible for me to do either. Why, maybe I should leave you to throw your fit of anger, find him myself and keep him. I’m sure the fortune god knows _all about that._ ” She wondered if the other gods could hear her despite her not being able to see them. She wondered if they could see her at all, or even if they were in the deep black space with her and the little god.

That must have been the breaking point for him. He stomped his foot down, intent on running at her, she was sure. But that wasn’t what happened.

From the water below, another ripple sent waves lapping across her ankles. She blinked, confused, as she was certain, thanks to her spear, the child’s Domain wasn’t in that spot. Gold, far below the surface, flashed, light catching the barest hint of something rising. Then, crashing to the surface, sending water spraying upwards, rose a set of scales. Flames licked down the chains holding the two sides up, golden light casting shadows across things that weren’t visible to her across the dark water. The boy locked up, stumbling back into the beast that was his Domain. It rose only to catch him, then slipped back into the water, giving her a look of hungry wrath.

Chalice _refused_ to admit that look struck fear into her soul.

“A jar? Really? That’s the best you’ve got?” Both jumped, two sets of eyes scanning the waterfall pouring from the scales now eclipsing the sky above them. As the shadows danced, flashes of blue and white would catch the light, but the full figure eluded their gaze. It seemed as if all the anger had poured out of the red child, replaced by hope so powerful, Chalice could almost taste it. She scowled, even more enraged that her revenge would take longer.

Thoughts of revenge died the moment the surface below her stopped supporting her. She screamed as she fell, choking on water while she tried to regain her bearings. She fought to get back to the surface, adrenaline sending her mind into a frenzy. The moment she breeched, she spat out a great mouthful of water, coughing out liquid that didn’t belong in her soul.

“That’s nothing. Have you ever tried corpse soup? What about mold?”

“How about you stop hiding and I’ll let you know what it’s like to choke on your own blood.” She slammed her fist into the water, only to realize she wasn’t where she was before. Now she was on her hands and knees on one side of the scales. The flames left after-images in her eyes, giving the illusion of a dog with tall ears and fur blacker than the void around her staring at her one moment, then a cat the next, then nothing.

“I’d say you’re only digging a deeper grave, but I’ve heard better threats from Elder Kettle when a potion goes wrong. So instead, I’ll ask a question.”

The flames ceased all movement, hovering unnaturally still. No one made a sound, not a single limb twitched. The hissing was joined by low growling, equally deep, equally threatening. She wiped more water from her eyes, determined to not give them any leeway. Just a foot from her stood the one she’d destroyed. Dressed in blue and gold, eyes no longer bright blue, but a deep gold. They seemed to pierce through her, reading her every emotion, her every intent.

“What is the weight of your sins?”

She let out a war cry, reaching for him, infuriated at the insult. The flames flared up again, she threw her hands up to shield her eyes. By the time she lowered them, he was gone, and the scales were moving. The scale below her shifted towards the ocean below. Across from her, a feather drifted down, almost delicately, daintily, falling to rest on the other scale. The moment it touched the water, the scales _groaned._

Hers descended faster, the flames rose higher. When she tried to throw herself off the scale, not wanting to be caught by whatever the child’s deity could do, the flames lashed out at her. She wasn’t made of flesh, but the fire’s touch had her howling in renewed pain a thousand times worse than before.

“ _I’m going to kill you!”_ Chalice screeched, writhing where she stood. The scale hit the water, a chime rang out, as if to answer her. The flames flared up one final time before going out entirely, and there, on the other scale, high in the air, sat the blue child, legs crossed primly. She called for her Domain, demanding it give her the strength to defend herself as the air went still. The blue child rolled the feather in his fingers, looking down at her, eyes frigid despite the gold shining from them.

“Done! And so are you.”

The scale’s chain rattled, a drop of water landed below her.

Chalice looked down.

Teeth snapped shut around her, dragging her wailing figure into the depths, and the light returned to the world around them.

====-====-====-====

Cuphead never moved faster in his life the second the world was back. He _flew_ across the distance between him and Mugman. His brother didn’t even have a chance to truly understand what just happened before he was being spun around by Cuphead. Unmitigated relief sent Cuphead to his knees as he hugged the life out of his brother who returned the favor with equal fervor.

Cuphead knew his mouth was moving, knew he was saying things, but he didn’t know what. His hearing was entirely focused on the soul liquid rushing through Mugman’s body. The soft replies spoken into his shoulder, the way Mugman’s fingers dug into his shirt, as if anchoring Cuphead in place, all of it etched itself into Cuphead’s frazzled mind. He didn’t care about anything else at the moment. Didn’t care that he was in the presence of a potential threat, didn’t care that those in the casino were giving the brothers varying looks. Didn’t spare a thought that outside, there was still a barrier trapping them all on Inkwell. That he hadn’t made sure all the gods were fixed before getting to Mugman, meaning threats could still be present. He didn’t care—and his Domain certainly didn’t either, too busy hissing and rumbling at whatever now lurked in Mugman’s shadow. That too, he didn’t bother caring about yet.

They meant nothing to him.

Slowly, so slowly, his hearing finally tuned into what his mouth was spitting out. Later on, he’d hope he hadn’t said anything embarrassing before that, but that would come _much_ later.

“I’m so sorry, so sorry, don’t be mad, please don’t be mad.”

“I’m not, Cuphead, I’d never be mad at you. Forgive me for leaving you, I didn’t know, I didn’t mean to abandon you there.”

“You didn’t, I know what you were trying to do, I’m so sorry, I saved punching Elder Kettle for you.”

That got wet laughter from the brother in blue.

“I missed you.” Mugman’s voice was small, weak, cracking with emotion. Cuphead only nodded his head, pressed to Mugman’s shoulder as it was, and hugged him tighter. They finally sat in silence, simply taking in the presence of the other now that the undiluted _relief_ had run most of its course through their souls. They sat, with Mugman in Cuphead’s lap, Cuphead sitting on the floor, legs too weak to support him. It would take ten minutes of basking in one another being there, and healthy, if not quite the same as before.

But, there were still things to do, and Cuphead, now that he had Mugman, had all the energy in the world. Eager to race out into Inkwell, break the barrier, and—after scolding (possibly eating, neither Domain was quite sure yet) Elder Kettle, exploring the world to their hearts content. The idea that there was no chance of breaking that barrier didn’t even cross his mind. He knew they’d figure something out, especially with the gods not blinded by corruption. Though, he wondered if the gods he hadn’t truly fixed would be spiteful enough to hinder them.

That was about the time he remembered they weren’t alone. He peeked over Mugman’s shoulder, but the two gods weren’t paying attention to them. They were chatting to one another, and had rather impressively ruthless grins. He let Mugman pull him up, legs wobbling for a second as he got his bearings back. It was King Dice that finally broke off from whatever verbal battle they had going on to address the boys.

“Well now, looks like you pulled through with time to spare,” He said to Cuphead, swirling the drink he held in the glass.

“I bet Chalice will be a real treat when she gets tossed back out. What do you want to bet she’ll still be bitter.” Devil’s teeth shone a little too brightly in the light, fangs glinting under the glow. Behind the brothers, two shadows answered him with equally vicious shows of teeth. King Dice huffed, eyes flickering green like a flame.

“Hardly the sort of bet I care for, you’re slipping again darling. Too much and I just might pick those two to stay near for entertainment.” Devils fur bristled, eyes coming alight, but it wasn’t malicious. Cuphead decided the best course of action would be to just leave. He wasn’t in the mood to watch two old gods verbally spar.

“Thanks for taking care of my brother for me!” He called out, ignoring the raised brow it got from Devil and the laughter hidden behind a hand from King Dice. He grabbed Mugman’s hand, still not willing to let Mugman too far away, not yet, not for a week at least. When the hand in his grip returned the hold with a squeeze, he knew the feeling was mutual. Mugman waved to the others in the casino, then left, figuring the gods inside would come out when they felt like it. Knowing King Dice the way he tentatively did, they’d probably see him later, sans the Devil, starting up the game again. Mugman still wasn’t sure what sort of game it was, but those two had fun with it, so he didn’t think it was important to put too much thought into it.

====-====-====-====

Going from the shadowed realm of Hell to Inkwell would have been easier if Inkwell hadn’t drastically changed while they were inside. The biggest change that hit them was the bright sun, cheerfully illuminating the land from a clear blue sky. The second thing, the lack of fog, of heavy, oppressive air. The third, the sounds. Gone was the silence, the cold echoes coming faintly from all sides with no clear point of origin. The ocean now lapped at the cliffsides, a sound all too familiar to the children. Though there were no birds chirping, there were voices, chattering away with clear joy. The wind brushed across them, carrying the scent of the ocean with it, though, when it shifted, the scent of flowers joined the mix.

Now that the sun was beaming down on Inkwell, and the fog no longer hid the damage time had done to Inkwell, it became all to clear just how far gone Inkwell had been. The stones were all a slick greyish black, stained beyond saving. The flora was still dead, even if there were sprouts here or there, tiny green dots amongst dingy grey. The city across the bridge was visibly ruined, with only Rumor Honeybottom’s high rise the only undamaged one.

The sight of Hott, snoozing away, parked in the clearing while the workers flitted about with pieces from the cars, was the first living thing to greet them. One of the cars, the one with warped walls, a gaping tear spotted through broken wheels, and the suspicious scent of magic pouring from it, sat unhitched from the rest. Evidently it had been deemed a lost cause by the workers. Mugman took a single look at the thing, and eyed his brother knowingly.

“I think you missed it, but there’s an entire basement just…just _covered_ in old potions.” Cuphead offered as an answer and explanation. Without seeing the inside, Mugman couldn’t tell which car it was, and at first, he hoped it was the dining car. But when he saw T-bone carting wall paneling held together by mold, that hope was crushed. It appeared like the workers were all clearing out the cars, cleaning them up while the passengers who weren’t at their proper stop milled about. Some helped out when they could, carrying furniture to a pile likely to be burned later.

Everyone was talking, an air of excitement curling around the scene. Through it all, Hott stayed asleep, sides expanding and contracting with every whistle-like snore. It was a good sign of things to come, that was for sure. It only got better when one of the brakemen spotted the twins.

“Hey! There you are! Spec! T-bone! Come ‘ere!” Soon swarmed by workers all hugging the life out of the boys, there was little they could do except let the workers express their gratitude.

“Congrats on dying!” Blind Specter piped up, patting Mugman heartily on the back. Neither brother was quite sure how to take that, but as it wasn’t meant as an insult, they chose to treat it like a compliment.

“Thanks?” Mugman loosely gestured to the pile. “Doing some spring cleaning?”

“Yes! It’s disgusting and horrifying and I’ll never be clean again!” Blind Specter, the brothers decided, was easily the creepiest of the bunch considering how peppy he sounded about it all. They supposed it had something to do with the peacefully resting train, but that didn’t reduce the creepiness. Then Mugman realized he and Cuphead were hugged by the lot of them, and were now likely covered in exactly what the workers were covered in. T-bone saw the green tint, and laughed boisterously before he could stop himself.

“That’s the pile to be burned, there ain’t no saving anything in there. We just have to wait for Hott’s firebox to get warmed back up so we can use his fire. Don’t need the others coming over here while boss is still down for the count and Hott’s fire doesn’t produce smoke.”

“I thought that dining car was roasted already.” Cuphead clearly remembered a fireball, he scratched his head trying to wrap his mind around how things had survived such a powerful blast.

“Gas fire doesn’t affect the furniture, Hott ain’t natural. We need the stuff that burns on magic.” One of the brakemen answered. In the next instant, gold fire erupted in an inferno, devouring the pile far more efficiently than natural fire would have. Mugman blinked, not expecting his Domain to react the way it had to his pondering request. He blushed bright blue when the attention when to him, laughing awkwardly, hiding half his face behind a hand hovering over his mouth.

“Well… That works too!” T-bone took it in stride, a twinkle of amusement in his eye sockets as the red brother snickered at the blue brother.

“Not even a spot of smoke! Thank you! We were starting to think we’d have to build another pile.” Blind Specter continued, watching as passengers began tossing things into the blaze, marveling at the lack of heat it produced despite how easily it snapped up the items thrown in.

“Glad to help.” Mugman’s voice was pitched high with embarrassment. His Domain cooed, twin voices joining one another in his mind. He wondered how long it took Cuphead to get used to someone sharing his mind, if Cuphead even had. Then again, his brother was usually the best at taking things in stride, so he guessed Cuphead would have powered through the oddity of it all within a day.

“Oh but hey, don’t let us keep you boys from getting out there. We’ve been hearing a lot of commotion down by the theater. I’m sure you’re eager to see the wonderful changes you’ve done!” Blind Specter, happy to see the boys but wanting to be done with cleaning before Hott woke up, nudged the boys towards the bridge. He wanted Hott’s first sight to be gleaming cars any train would be delighted and proud to haul. The boys managed to wish them luck, before they were ushered away, politely shoved towards the rest of the Isle.

====-====-====-====

They hadn’t even gotten a step off the bridge when loud shouting erupted over by the theater. Both boys heads snapped in that direction. Cuphead, remembering how he hadn’t even shot Sally, immediately placed himself between Mugman and the building. He didn’t have to worry however, because the shouting wasn’t directed at him.

The children watched Sally tie her brother into a pretzel, keeping an exasperated Djimmi at bay with one of her feet shoved into his face. Beppi laughed despite it all, even when Sally shoved his own foot into his mouth to shut him up while she ranted at him.

“—Using my actor like that, you little shit!” She waved him around by his neck, face red with an array of emotions.

“Sally, I don’t mind giving Puphead over, I’m sure he doesn’t mind either!” Djimmi offered, voice muffled thanks to the shoe pressed hard across his cheek and mouth. Sally’s head jerked to face him, lips dramatically pulled up in an impressive sneer.

“That one’s inspiration has the acting talent of a soup can!” She retorted, waving the arm holding Beppi at the two dolls leaning against one another on a bench. Cuphead bristled, eye twitching at the slight.

“I’ll have you know my acting matches the stage I’m on!” He shouted, drawing their attention. Sally’s head whipped towards him.

“Oh, I _know_ you didn’t call my theater boring you kitchen dish.” She hissed, but when she took a step towards him, her face went through a myriad of expressions, so fast, Cuphead wondered if it hurt.

“Hi Grandmother! Good to see you doing so well,” Mugman, saccharine smile bright, eyes equally so, except with murder, greeted, having stepped out from behind Cuphead. He waved at Sally, “It’s wonderful to see the hangover didn’t take you down for long.” His eyes were golden, and Sally just _knew_ he knew she’d antagonized Cuphead. She dropped Beppi, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Just two days full of agony, Little Blue Ribbon. Grandmother here is tougher than she looks.”

“Not smarter, unfortunately.” Oh, he knew. _He_ _knew._

“I want to state for the record, his soul liquid tasted absolutely disgusting. I’d sooner drink Djimmi’s sweat than ever drink that again.”

“...Gross!” Cuphead shouted, face pale, hands pressed on the sides of his face, like he was trying to smother the image that spawned in his mind. Djimmi gagged, and yet, eyed her, affronted. Beppi theatrically wiggled his hands, the only things free.

“Goodness I bet!” Mugman rested a hand on his chest, looking entirely sympathetic, “You know, I find a bit of heat is great for getting rid of unwanted taste. Let me help you, grandmother.”

“No, I’m goooo--ooonnn fire. I’m on fire. Okay….” Sally squinted at the child, “You win _this_ round, but I’ll have my revenge. I’ve got Wonderland on the brain, and guess which main character wears _blue_.” The golden fire turned her skin red, and made her contemplate diving off the cliff into the ocean to try and rid herself of it. But her pride burned brighter, and she vowed to wait for him to leave.

Beppi touched her arm, she screamed.

The blue child’s cold smile only widened. She had nothing but loathing for whoever gave him his godhood. His face changed just as quickly as hers did when he turned his gaze to the two dolls. He waved at the both of them, seemingly fine with the replica of him staring emotionlessly back, or, almost emotionlessly. There was a slight shift on his face, a smile, however slight, bound by Sally’s design as he was, it was all he could likely do. Puphead waved back though. Djimmi eyed Cuphead nervously, waiting to see how the other would respond to seeing Puphead. Cuphead however, didn’t seem to care, content to watch Sally eye the cliffside with growing fervor.

“You should go find Bon Bon! She’s been going crazy since we got the fog to leave!” Beppi called out, talking them while his hands expertly untied the knot tying his shin to his shoulder. The boys nodded, also eager to see more of Inkwell now that it was brighter. They got to the stairs leading down, and heard a splash behind them. Mugman’s wicked smile was unseen by all but Cuphead, and he sure wasn’t going to nark.

====-====-====-====

At Mugman’s insistence—more his change in direction mid-step towards the shop—they stopped by Porkrind’s emporium. Before they entered, Cuphead remembered the charm he’d been given, and grabbed Mugman’s handle to put it on. Mugman squeaked, hand’s flinching upwards while his brother tied the ribbon around his handle. It was sloppy, enough so that Mugman fixed it, shooting a confused glance over his shoulder at his brother. Cuphead answered by showing his own charm off and pointing at the building. It was good enough for Mugman, he was too excited to see the one who’d helped him out to care much for the reason behind the charm. Neat bow in place, he was the first to enter the building.

“Mr. Porkrind!” Mugman called out. He was picked up and set to rest on a thick arm in response. He cheerfully hugged Porkrind, immediately telling the other about his time spent in the casino.  Cuphead’s attention was drawn to the table, packed to the brim with all sorts of goodies that smelled phenomenal. His eyes glittered at the cherry pie, sitting there. He shuffled side to side, turning his eyes from the pie to Porkrind and back. Porkrind wordlessly nudged him towards it, giving him the all clear.

“Cooked up by the Baroness herself. Said she wanted t’ make amends.” Porkrind told them once Mugman had run out of exciting things to say. Mugman didn’t mention how he’d left a mortal and come back a god, Porkrind didn’t ask. He did, however, wonder if it had been natural, or if one of the gods had done it.

“Haven’t had much appetite though, not with the lady of death screaming up a storm. She stopped not too long ago.” Cuphead, face covered in cherry filling, paused mid-bite. Mugman’s face went carefully blank. Porkrind made a mental note to remind Chalice how he’d survived so long on the isles once she got out of where ever she currently was. “I’m sure if y’ stopped by she’d make sure you left with nothin’ less than a banquet.” He changed the subject, and the one resting on the crook of his arm perked up at the mention of the goddess.

“So the gods are acting different?” Mugman asked, glad to finally have some answers for how the isles looked.

“Different? Nah, more like how they used to be. B’fore all this nonsense. ‘s nice if y’ ask me. I think Inkwell agrees too, hard to tell, not connected like that. Why don’t you go see fer yerself?” He gently put Mugman back down, bit back a snort as the boy immediately started wiping cherry from his brothers face, and pretended not to notice the red one sneaking an extra bite of the raspberry tart, much to the exasperation of his sibling.

====-====-====-====

Strolling around the central area of Isle Three, the boys ran into the two creativity gods.

“An army of chickens.”

“Why?”

“No! An army of bats! Ze echolocation!”

“We’d have to enhance it somehow.”

“Ve can strap megaphones to zem.”

“Interesting… Write that down, it’s just crazy enough to work. If not, it’ll be funny at least.” As the gods passed the brothers, they both absentmindedly waved, far too caught up in whatever brainstorm they had going on to do more than that.

“What about a giant robot?”

“Ve don’t have the scrap for it.”

“We can use Cagney’s vines to hold it together.”

“…Yeessss….” Both brothers caught Werner rubbing his palms together, and promptly bailed. The devious cackling only made them walk to the docks faster.

As they passed the trio of buildings, a flash of silver tackled Mugman. Mugman shrieked, flailing at the unfamiliar arms pinning his arms to his sides. Cuphead, who’d been leading the way, _glared_ at the posh silverware.

“Goodness there you are! I was so worried I’d never get to apologize for my unseemly behavior! Gracious me!” Forkington spoke, as if not noticing the undiluted murder practically dripping from Cuphead. Not until a thin hand grabbed his wrist, and _tightened._ He winced, wires sparking against his skin. Two golden eyes, frosted to glacial levels, _stared_ at him.

“Let. Go.” The shadows around them bristled, a low growl spilling from the darkest one at Mugman’s feet. Forkington didn’t waste a second doing as ordered. Mugman, or the thing now staring at Forkington through the boys golden gaze, scoffed.

“Go ask Kahl to fix you.” Was all that was said to him after that, and the boy was striding away, clearly not accepting any level of apology. Sparks shot out from the wires, Forkington twitched, but not because of that. More because the set of eyes observing him from the deep shadows cast by the boys. He had no doubt, no matter how well intentioned, it would be a _long_ time before he was ever allowed near the two without risking being torn to shreds.

====-====-====-====

They found the pier livelier than before, much like the rest of the Isle. Though there wasn’t an abundance of activity, it was a far cry from the creepy emptiness from before. Now, Inkwell simply felt like a place on the cusp of becoming a bustling city. Like it was getting ready for the settlers to return. Everything was still grimy, still slick in areas with rot, but none had any illusion that it wouldn’t have been that way. Not with all those years of neglect. However, the pier was one such place that already held promise. Many of the Docks were repaired, freshly power-washed and gleaming white under the sunlight.

Cala Maria, ferociously scrubbing away at the stones by the oceanside, was the first to notice them. She took one look at Mugman, at the sub-zero blank stare, at gold eyes, and leaned her elbow on a dock.

“On a scale of ‘ouch’ to ‘end me’, how much pain am I about to be in.” She drawled. Cuphead took a few steps away from Mugman, having never seen such malice from his usually docile brother. Mugman was silent, still, almost statuesque. Brineybeard braced for impact, silently hoping his poor ship would be spared. He only _just_ got his beloved vessel fixed.

Then, an angelic smile, so holy it was almost unholy in nature, crawled across the brand-new gods face.

“None…for now. You’ve already gone through Cuphead’s judgement. I don’t think anything I do will have much of an affect at this point.” She shuddered, not trusting it for even a second. Sweat beaded on her brow as Cala struggled to maintain her lazy pose. “Later though? Well…” The shadows twisted, sharp canine teeth flashed from within the depths. Cala Maria wheezed, trying to make her frantic push from the dock seem like she was simply going to dip the sea sponge into the ocean to continue cleaning.

No one was fooled.

Brineybeard returned the cheerful wave sent to him by the blue child with a suspiciously overenthusiastic one of his own. Cuphead didn’t even bother pretending not to laugh at Cala Maria, he had to be pulled away by his brother as they left, leaving the gods to continue cleaning. Later, she would learn of Chalice being the one to do Mugman in, and from then on, Chalice would have to avoid oceans like the plague unless she wanted to be buried in fish. Cala Maria would hold the hatred for the one who expedited Mugman’s shift to immortality, not because she cared about him, but because she had no chance of bracing for the inevitable fallout dished out on her when Mugman got revenge for his brother.

Revenge that would be so grand, it would go down in history, to be spread across the globe. Not to mock Cala Maria, but to soothe the world’s fears of the gods ever falling again. The things done to her would be the first thing people brought up when the question of whether two children could really handle the gods far older than them came up.

====-====-====-====

They didn’t bother stopping by Rumor’s place, but did return the greetings the various workers cleaning away and rebuilding the neighboring structures as they passed. The bridge was still missing the die shaped building, giving the boys easy passage in-between. With Isle three under obvious care, it was time to see about the rest of the Isles. Mugman verbally wondered whether they were all trying to appeal to Inkwell with the hopes that, if they got Inkwell to forgive them and see they’d changed, Inkwell would help break the barrier.

Cuphead shrugged, not particularly certain as to whether that would work if Inkwell knew that was what they were doing. It didn’t help that the boys, new as they were, couldn’t really understand the odd wash of emotions they’d get from the ground below their feet. Both gladly took the flashes of amusement over the oppressive hate just a scant few days ago.

The first to be sighted was Grim. The dragon was soaring high above them, wings cutting through the air as he searched for something. They weren’t sure what it was, but that didn’t matter when, on glancing down for some reason, he saw them. He went from flying to falling to diving faster than they could blink. If it wasn’t for the happy grin he had on, flapping in the high winds, they’d have made a run for the river or tree line. Cuphead still eased himself in front of Mugman, aware that his meet and greet with the god had been far less horrible than Mugman’s.

Grim landed with a thunderous crash, nearly shattering the stones below his feet. From across the Isle, they heard his sister shout angrily at him. What she said, they couldn’t tell, but with the sheepish smile Grim gained, it wasn’t hard to figure out. It wasn’t enough to keep the excitement down, as Grim pranced around the brothers, hopping merrily in a circle as he took in their appearances.

“Gee, it’s real good t’ see you! I was afraid Cala had done you in for a little, but Bon Bon said you were fine and told me to look for any weaknesses in the barrier up high. I ain’t much good at appealing to Inkwell…Got smacked by a tree so much I think my head’s still ringing. Are you going to look for an opening too? Oh, also, real sorry about wanting to drink you, that was awful rude of me. But, if ya ever need a lift anywhere, just holler! No one’s faster in the air than me!” Grim leaned in conspiratorially, voice dropping to a whisper, or at least, an attempt at one. “But don’t tell Wally. He’ll get all puffy and get to griping at me.”

Mugman wordlessly patted the snout close to him, eyes wide, brain tossing any hope of coming up with an answer. Cuphead nodded, equally stunned silent.

“Don’t forget t’ stop by Bon Bon! She’s been right sad since you up and left.” With that, the dragon was back in the air, accidentally breaking a tree with his tail as he lifted off. A rock sailed through the air, nailing the ascending dragon with impressive precision right on the nose.

It was Cagney who cursed out Grim loud enough for everyone to hear, that time.

====-====-=====-====

The tower Grim stayed on was an even sorrier sight in the light of the sun. But what confused the boys was the sight of the carnival. They’d thought it would be a rust covered haven, but, it wasn’t. The Ferris wheel shone with fresh paint, seen even from where they were, passing by the second Mausoleum. The scent of sweets drifted over with every breeze, the stones below were spotless, colorful decorations now clearly visible. Even the tent that spanned across the walk-way was stunningly clean. Rich red fabric fluttered in the wind.

Wally, who’d been hammering away at his home, grumbling about all manner of things, saw them only once a nail fell from his beak, landing before them. He hopped down, squinting at them.

Mugman promptly kicked him in the shin, zero hesitation present.

It wound up cracking his own leg, but the howl of pain and the hopping was _worth it._ Gold repaired the cracks immediately too, only solidifying in Mugman’s mind how worth it that was. Cuphead didn’t even _try_ , he just belted out laughter, slapping a hand across his knee as his body rattled.

“Don’t you be giving that sort of look to us you rude bundle of feathers!” Mugman snapped, stomping a foot down, putting hands on his hips as his shadow bristled. Though, whether that was just for show or because it too was offended at the one who had done impressive damage to its fellow Domain remained a mystery. Wally tried scowling at him, but the scowl didn’t last, not when the shadow _grinned._ He was all too aware of just how deep in trouble he was, knowing full well what he’d done to the child’s sibling wasn’t a forgivable offense. Especially not when his Domain _oh so helpfully_ informed him of Sally. Though, when Cuphead continued snickering at him, he lost that fear spectacularly fast. Mugman’s increasingly icy glare, despite coming from someone who was so tiny, cowed him.

“Just be glad I’m not setting you on _fire_ you overgrown turkey.” Mugman hissed.

“Mugman?”

From under the tent, Bon Bon strode out, wiping her hands clean on an apron she swiftly tore off as Mugman went from scowling at Wally to near sparkling with joy and running for the goddess. She easily scooped him off his feet, visibly tearing up when he called out.

“Auntie Bon Bon!”

Cuphead, _still_ snickering, choked on a laugh as Wally leaned in, squinting at him darkly.

“Oh you think that’s funny?”

“Yes.”

“You know what else was funny? Stomping the tar out of y—”

Cuphead, much like Bon Bon, was startled when Wally spontaneously combusted. Mugman gave him a deadpan stare in the silence, flames crackling away.

“I changed my mind. Auntie? Do you know what goes best with bird?”

Bon Bon swooned, Wally screamed and dove into the ocean. The fire didn’t even remotely die when he burst back out, still aflame.

“Ohhh, such a cute little spitfire!” The Baroness cooed, she turned to the other who had been nearby, Cagney, who now perched high in a nearby tree, staring at Mugman like a mortal looking at the grim reaper. “Isn’t he positively adorable!” She held Mugman up, and he waved cheerfully. Cagney hissed, attention going from the flames to the one who lit them.

“Real cute.” He hastily bit out when Baroness’ expression slid into frosty territory. She smiled equally warmly at Cuphead, pressing a kiss to his forehead, much to his displeasure.

“I’m not going to set you on fire Mr. Cagney, you’ve already gone through retribution.” Mugman spoke, finally understanding just what had the nature god so jumpy around him. Cagney frowned, suspicion high on his features. His fingers dug into the tree, moss dripping from his grip, spreading down the tree.

“Not even for trying to make you forget that one?” He nodded to Cuphead, who arched a brow in return.

“Kahl did worse, and Chalice killed me.”

“ ** _She what?”_**

Baroness, body rigid, gently placed the child down, went through countless emotions, threw her hands in the air, strangled something that wasn’t there, shouted words in a language they didn’t know, face turning bright red the angrier she got. Then, suddenly, the anger was gone.

Cagney feared the future where Bon Bon took up a familial place in the children’s lives.

He feared it greatly.

“Well, I suppose I can’t get my hands on her now,” All deities not porcelain threw a glance at Cuphead, who was trying to wipe the lipstick off his face. “But that’s fine. My _good_ ovens take a bit to warm up. But! Look at you! All fancy! You wouldn’t survive winter in my birthplace though. But how cute! All matching now~. And, is that cherry I smell? Have you visited some of the mortals too?”

“That was so good!” Cuphead perked up, feet doing a little dance at the memory of the delicious pie.

“Oh, can you show me how to make those tarts, Auntie?” Mugman too, perked up, baby blue eyes practically shining with hope.

Baroness felt a vicious need to cuddle the boys blaze in her chest, but, she wanted more to fill them in on what the gods had been doing. She could cuddle later, when they were off Inkwell and out in the world, repenting further for what they’d done.

“Of course, but, before that. Now I don’t know if—” Wally ran by, shrieking up a storm. When he crossed behind Cuphead, the shadows expanded, and he fell in as if he’d stepped on water. There wasn’t even a splash, he just vanished. The other gods stared, one with mounting horror, the other, glee. They guessed Cuphead would be stronger now that his brother was a deity, Domains fed off one another after all. He’d likely been going on half strength the entire time he’d been without his fellow deity.

“If I start slipping,” Cagney started, breaking the stillness, carefully dropping out of the tree to re-root himself. “Just kill me. Rumor will understand if you tell her beforehand.” Baroness hummed, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. Then, leaning down to a jelly bean, she whispered “Write that down, make him sign it later.” And returned to what she’d originally been trying to do.

“Now boys, while you’ve been hard at work doing what have you, we’ve been working too. Inkwell has suffered greatly under our frankly ghastly behavior.  We’ve been doing our best to make amends. We’ve cleared the air, cleaned what we could thus far. Djimmi is trying to figure out what he can fix quickly and what needs a more careful hand… That isn’t all, but it’s the most obvious of our efforts. Cagney, the Root brothers, and Rumor, have all been hard at work essentially groveling to Inkwell in the way only nature gods can.” She paused, which allowed Cagney to pick up. He rested on his elbows, so he was closer to them, being the tallest in the group, he had to.

“Inkwell wants to see more than a few tears, it wants to see that we _really_ mean it. We aren’t corrupted. I don’t want to get out there and maul mortals like it’s a sport. Rumor doesn’t want to craft up new plagues, none of that stuff. You did a good job clearing our head’s up kid.” He motioned to Cuphead. Cuphead blinked at him.

“So we’ve been kissing up to the mortals, kissing up to our Domains… It’s doing something, but it…Well that barrier is still there. I’m starting to think we’ll have to hope Elder Kettle come sniffing around. I’m surprised he hasn’t already considering… Didn’t he raise you?”

“Yes.” Was said at the same time as “Hardly!” by Baroness. She ignored the twin snickers, feeling perfectly content considering there were no voices disagreeing with her.

“We could try asking Elder Kettle’s brother.”

“Who?”

“The fountain…his brother is there.”

“Ha?”

“Yeah, I mean, he might know how to break it considering—oh okay.” Cagney snatched the two up, grabbing Baroness at the last second. Then he dove into the ground, then sprang back up right by the fountain. Baroness, glared at him, trying to pat the dirt from her skirts.

The face in the fountain popped up, took in the aborted sentences spouted out by a red-faced Cagney and laughed.

“The jig is up I see! What a shame!” The man laughed, water rippling. “If you’re going to ask about that barrier, I can safely say it’s ultimately up to Inkwell. Since Elder Kettle entrusted Inkwell to know when everyone was fixed. The mortals have a say of course, but it’s all Inkwell, maybe a spot of Hell, all depends really. I really should ask Kettle just how he got it to work like this, haven’t tried that at all!”

“Oh they’re definitely related alright…” Cagney groaned, flopping face first into the dirt.

====-====-====-====

With the knowledge that nothing short of Inkwell’s complete mercy would free them, each god went about trying various methods. Baroness was distracted by trying to teach the children about being god, urging them to become better acquainted with their Domains now that there was no immediate danger. Mugman took to his quite quickly. Sometimes, those around him would see his shadow warp to something cat like, then canine like, then back to normal. A few of the gods tried seeing what the boys could do now they were hand in hand.

That included lying, seeing if they knew it for a lie—they did, Mugman especially was good at knowing when someone was lying. They tried pretending like they were going to attack, only to frantically stop the second the shadows twisted. At first, some assumed the shadow thing meant they shared Devil’s Domain, not that any knew what it was any more than they had before. Devil, who crawled out every once in a while, would cackle. At least until someone else pondered how the boys seemed tied to Karma, then thought they shared Domain’s with King Dice. No one was sure who decided that meant the boys were the love children of the two gods Domains, but they did know King Dice popped up just to smack Beppi across the face so hard, his hand broke.

The Domains the boys had too, hissed or growled at that. Many didn’t sleep for a while, and jumped at the slightest movement in the shadows. Those that were devoured especially so. Mugman’s was found to not quite purify the way being devoured did, but it did rip through the most immediate faults. But, anyone who had been purified in Cuphead’s Domain weren’t burned at all by the fire. It was as if the golden flames pick and chose when and what to burn. It also seemed that, though Mugman certainly had more strength than before, he was more prone to breaking. A few hypothesized that it was because Mugman wasn’t supposed to be a heavy hitter like Cuphead or any of the other stronger gods. They bet the fire and the shadows were his main mode of defense, but after Wally, no one wanted to test it.

Ultimately however, their attention was entirely focused on Inkwell. They pulled out all the stops in between teaching the children as best they could. Still, Inkwell didn’t budge, and the nature gods moped, crushed that their attempts were useless. When Chalice finally emerged, she was run over by a ferociously angry Hott. She let him rant at her, kneeling before him, taking every angry word like a knife to her heart. She refused to go near the children. Refusal that only increased when Baroness took to cleaning her shot gun when Chalice was around. She didn’t speak much at all to anyone else, but when the mausoleums were walked past, they could hear her whispering to Inkwell.

Four days in, and nothing changed. Even King Dice had ceased hiding to just drape himself across a large Devil’s shoulders, staring up into the sky, tonelessly humming. Devil had come out at the urging of Mugman, mostly because Mugman hoped Inkwell would still like Devil and King Dice if nothing else. They’d done it to humor the boy. When their presence didn’t stir up too much hostility, the barrier wobbled briefly. But nothing else, no other signs.

Now, everyone sat in the center of town, staring at the sky like the god of fortune. All but the children, who still eagerly explored Inkwell. Sally kept saying the names of plays, Beppi doing the same. Djimmi and Hilda both tried to outdo one another in weird things seen/wished for. The nature gods all lay in a heap, sometimes perking up as something in Inkwell shifted, only to return to their slumped positions a moment later. Goopy and Cala Maria argued over who had done the best job at fixing the docks on each of the isles. Brineybeard sang whatever shanties he knew of, joined by Cala Maria on occasion. Wally and Grim had draped themselves over buildings now fully repaired. Baroness listed ingredients, sometimes throwing the best way to skin a burglar depending on the species, making those near her turn green. Chalice hid in her mausoleum, unsure of how to handle anyone anymore. Hott sat on tracks sleeping again, but wanting to be near the others instead of tucked away. Ribby and Croaks played a rather brutal version of rock, paper, scissors, with the winner punching the loser. Even that though, was dispassionate.

The air of defeat hung heavy over everyone. They feared they’d be trapped, without the promise of descending into insanity now that the boys were present. It was how the boys found them.

“Oh come on, there’s gotta be something you’re all missing.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, what does Inkwell like?”

“It changes daily.” Came Cagney’s reply, muffled by the dirt.

“Hourly on some notable occasions.” Moe, equally muffled by dirt, added.

“Hey kid,” Sally piped up, turning her attention to Mugman. “Why don’t you try? I saw your brother trying not too long ago.”

“Yeah, turns out, offering to show off the neat toys Elder Kettle got us a few years ago isn’t enough.” Cuphead laughed. Mugman hummed, tapping a finger on his nose as he wandered over to the nearest tree. Though Inkwell could hear him no matter where he faced, he felt less silly when speaking to something tangible. He thought for a moment as the others continued.

“Knowing our dumb luck—ow—absolutely _stupid_ luck, he’ll do something completely left field, like bat his lashes or something.” Psycarrot rubbed the growing lump on his head, scowling up at the fortune god. He notably didn’t get up to retaliate, not considering who King Dice was using as a bed. Devil’s slit eye stared at him, daring him, and he minutely shook his head.

They all turned to Mugman as he snapped his fingers, perking up with an idea. They regret it a second later when the child cranked the adorable up so high, Cala wailed at her sudden blindness. Cuphead even staggered back.

“Warn a fella before you do that!” Cuphead shouted, blinking furiously.

“Inkwell, would you be so kind as to lift the barrier? I haven’t been able to kick Elder Kettle in the shins.” Every single tiny detail of the boy oozed cute, down to the inflection of his voice.

Exactly four seconds later, the air wavered as magic that had long been in place finally dispersed. No one said a thing. No one moved. Then—

“You spiteful bitch!”

“Mother fu…”

“Ahahahaha!”

“Of course it would be weak to cute.”

“Beppi! Beppi holy shit, write that down! Write it!”

“I hate everyone and everything and the first thing I’m going to do now that we’re free is scream into the void of space.”

Wally didn’t even wait for the void of space, he just screamed out into the sky.

Inkwell rumbled with obvious mirth.

Mugman, who’d been messing around mostly, began to wonder just how powerful the cute was. Then decided it was likely Inkwell was just spiteful like the nature gods had screamed. He instantly decided he liked Inkwell, and pat the tree.

“Oh I see, the promise of a neat boat does nothing, but weaponized cute does. I know who the favorite is now.” Cuphead playfully kicked a rock. A leaf drifted right into his face, landing perfectly in his open mouth.

“Guys! Guys! Wait!” Shouted Djimmi, who used his magic to enhance his voice. Everyone, who’d been between ranting into the clouds and staggering to their feet, paused.

“Has anyone even considered what it’ll be like out there? For all we know, they sacrifice parts of their harvests just to try and keep us away.”

“You bitches ain’t seen _shit_ until you have babies rain down on you, mixed with goats and cats for some _damn_ reason.” Devil grumbled, claws rhythmically digging into the dirt as the weight of the fortune god vanished from his back.

“I don’t care, I’m kicking Elder Kettle in the shin.” Mugman said plainly. Cuphead nodded in agreement.

“Well…” Rumor said after a spot of silence following the simple declaration.

“It’s a start.” Baroness finished.

“Go, team.” Sally deadpanned.

“Break!” Beppi shouted, and promptly vanished. Once more, no one moved, no one said a word, staring at the spot where he’d been a moment ago.

“Oh mercy, he’ll be the first they see.”

“Scramble!”

“Get the boats!”

“What boats?! Cala Maria sank them all!”

“Brineybeard! Brineybeard it’s an emergency!”

“Get the piñata! We might be able to distract him!”

Mugman and Cuphead shared a glance, twin smiles curling up as chaos erupted around them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, i sort of lied. I've got an epilogue planned. But, mostly, yes! The end! Thanks for all the comments, all the kudos... I loved reading the responses. I'm not sure what I'm going to do after this. Gonna be in a stupor for a while... 
> 
> Again, thanks to those who read this, I hope this ending is satisfactory, considering the journey it took...
> 
> I've said it before, but! If you want to see something, I'm totally for requests. 
> 
> Well, see you all on the next journey!


	24. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As stated, simply a glimpse into landfall after a century of being put in a metaphorical shame corner.

Stepping off of Inkwell’s land unnerved many of the gods. So many years yearning for freedom became eclipsed under the unknown beyond the waters. They _knew_ Inkwell’s ways, even the ways of their own after years of going stir-crazy. But out in the world, where they once roamed, it had been _so long_. Many of them chose to be ferried by Brineybeard despite having plenty of abilities giving them a much faster option to getting back. Sally had used hers, waving her parasol in a circle, vanishing from sight, likely to make sure her brother didn’t put them right back on Inkwell.

Cala Maria kept Goopy on her back, staying near the surface, content to let her deep sea fearing sibling cling like a limpet. Kahl and Werner too, darted off, eager to find new avenues for their ideas. The last thing anyone heard from them before they vanished in a flash of lightning was something pertaining to chickens and cluck power.

No one wanted to think of what that even meant.

Brineybeard steered towards where the boys lived on the mainland, claiming it was to make sure they got a chance to see Elder Kettle before they inevitably ran off to explore. Neither sibling had moved far from the other for long. Not that it was hard to stray away, not with Bon Bon doting on them. Rumor had joined in, trying to show them how to snap bones despite being fragile. Chalice had graciously accepted a ride from Hott. The last any had seen of her before Hott charged on ahead, she was sitting by the tender, speaking to Hott.

But, Brineybeards ship wasn’t exactly slow, even with a dragon periodically landing on it. Even with a giant flower wrapped around the mast, it cut through the water. It was Cagney who spotted land first. Grim had too, but he’d been so emotional all he got out was blubbering mixed in with “dirt” and “lot’s of dirt”.

Cuphead scaled Cagney, excitedly pointing to the house the boys had lived in for twelve years. Cagney let him, seemingly not even noticing the tiny little figure perched on his head, gripping his petals. Wally, fully healed son burrowed into his back feathers, took flight, clearly nervous but unwilling to stay on the ship for any longer than the day and a half.

The rest fell silent, unsure as to what would happen when they finally stepped back into the world.

“What if they’ve forgotten us?” Bon Bon muttered, fingers crumpling her gown.

Many of the gods had promptly shed many of the things they thought would make the mortals fear they’d not changed at all. The boys had teased them a bit for it, so had the mortals on Inkwell. But, if it made the gods feel better, the teasing was only for a little, and entirely playful. Especially on the mortals part. No one really blamed them for still being jumpy. The only one who was entirely indifferent to what laid out in the world was Devil. Devil, who was enjoying making the Root brothers flinch every five minutes by breathing out hellfire. Really, he’d chosen the route of the ship mostly because he was vindictive and found it funny. Everyone was aware of that.

“Do you think they might have destroyed the temples?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“I don’t see a lot of fire, and not a single chicken in sight, so the good news is Beppi and the rest already on land haven’t destroyed things.”

“Stop breathing fire at us you furry bastard!”

“Make me.”

“Don’t go makin’ me be turnin this ship o’ mine around! I’ll do it!”

“Are we there yet?”

“Oh not this again.”

“Ribby. Ask that question again Ribby. Ask it. Go ahead, see what I do to your bones.”

====-====-====-====

“Do you think Elder Kettle is even there?” Mugman asked his brother as the ship pulled up to the tiny little dock.

“Dunno. He might have run off to hide. We’ll know in a few minutes though!” Mugman hummed, tapping a finger to his nose, weight shifted to one leg.

“I just hope he hasn’t warded the house again.” Cuphead shrugged, then, seeing the gangplank rest on the dock, snatched his brother’s hand up and bolted. Mugman squeaked, but kept up, ignoring the surprised noises from the other gods.

When no barrier prevented them from approaching the house, their hopes went up, then down. No barrier was good, but there was no motion in the house, and the door was wide open. Everything spoke of abandonment. A few of the gods, the victory brothers, Devil, the Root brothers, all broke from the other gods at the shore. Cala Maria waved Goopy off as he hitched a ride with the victory siblings, and started for her own exploration.

The rest followed the brothers, unsure of what else to do, and nervous to go further into the mainland.

====-====-====-====

There wasn’t a single sound from inside the home, still as the grave, and still a wreck from Cuphead’s rampage. Though, Cuphead didn’t remember scattering so many papers. He guessed that was Elder Kettle taking the important things and running. That, or he was off on another learning binge. Which, to them, meant they could expect to find him back at the house in four months. They entered anyway, unsure of what else to do.

“Oh my, what happened to the house?” Mugman nudged a piece of the broken table with his shoe, wincing when it toppled over. Cuphead immediately pretended not to notice when his brother turned to look at him. Choosing to watch Hilda examine the scarce pictures on the walls. Bon Bon opened some of the cupboard doors, and made a noise not unlike a dying deer. A sort of wheeze that tried to turn into a pained groan but never gained enough volume to do so.

“Oh, kid you weren’t lying, this is a pretty nice garden!” Came Cagney’s voice from outside.

“Watch out for the squirrels!” Cuphead called back. There was a noise of confusion, a squeaky war cry, and cursing so colorful Hilda started clapping.

Grim’s heavy landing rattled the house, shaking dust off the ceiling.

“There is nothing in these wardrobes,” Djimmi emerged from the back, coming out of their old room with a disdainful frown on his face. The boys started whispering to one another, glancing at a calendar that sat on a heap on the floor by the fireplace. Rumor picked up a wooden sword with visible disgust, clutching it between her nails, eying the fireplace contemplatively.

The other gods explored a bit, finding Elder Kettle’s room and causing a minor explosion exactly three seconds later. All of it was ignored by the siblings, who seemed to vacillate between worry, annoyance, unease, and nonchalance. Even when Grim broke a tree outside and started screaming about a deranged mortal. Bon Bon only opened the window to watch, too saddened by the appearance of the bare kitchen to do much else.

Not until the creak of metal both brothers had grown accustomed to hearing for so many years. They immediately fell silent, turning their heads at the same time. Everyone else too, fell silent. Eyes darted between the brothers and their caretaker. The man himself seemed nervous. He clutched his cane tightly, fingers trembling, body shifting as if to walk forward, only to lean back hesitantly. Twin shadows deepened, creeping across the floor, golden flashes of light examining the one at the doorway.

A few aborted attempts at speaking from Elder Kettle was what finally got a response. But not from the one they’d expected. Mugman’s eyes glint bright gold in the darker environment, disdain so clear it caused Elder Kettle to flinch violently back, as if slapped. The blue child crossed his arms across his chest, and spoke.

“Do we get to choose our names when we become gods?” He asked, and unease washed over those who’d heard that sort of tone before.

Elder Kettle made an odd noise, as if his voice had gotten caught in his chest.

“Did Hilda Berg choose to be Goddess of dreams? Do you think the Phantom Express chose that name, or did mortals decide it for him? Because if that’s the case, I know _exactly_ what you should have been called, oh God of useless facts.” Mugman’s tone turned biting, scathing, his shadow bristled. Elder Kettle slumped, not responding, not defending himself. He glanced at Cuphead, and Cuphead just slowly blinked at him, well aware that even before everything, Elder Kettle had never handled the cooler brothers temper well at all.

“Do you know what corpse tastes like? I do! What about mold? Oh no, how about, do you know what it’s like to watch your sibling die in your arms? Not because of some experiment that you both decided would be dandy to try, but because neither of you knew that stupid potion left out in the open was lethal!” Mugman stomped over, flames flickering across his figure, wisps of gold fire drifting off of him as his eyes grew icier. Though Elder Kettle opened his mouth, clearly stunned at the mention of his own brother, he was given no room to speak before the other was before him.

“I know complex mathematics, how to sew, how to tell a storm is coming just by the sea alone, how to brew a potion that turns porcelain pink, but you know what I didn’t know? _That I was a god!_ You think _that_ would have been nice to know before I ran off thinking I’d never see my only brother ever again thanks to you? Do you have any idea how many times I nearly died? I _did_ die! Because a god claiming to not be corrupted had decided in his _infinite wisdom he knew how to raise children._ And then he messed it up! You said we couldn’t eat, you said we couldn’t go too far from home because the outside world was dangerous and big. You said we had to be careful because we were dainty and easily breakable and then told us you were wise, you _knew everything._ All of that! All of it, and we _both_ had to learn that we were gods by _dying!_ ”  

Mugman paused, body rattling, fingers cracking as his clenched fists tightened beyond what his body could handle. He inhaled deeply, clearly trying to reign in his temper, even as the shadows darkened further, as a low hum slowly rose until it was audible to all. Cuphead, who’d gotten his chance to yell, was content to watch his brother steamroll over Elder Kettle verbally.

“Don’t bother apologizing to me, I’m not going to accept it. What you _are_ going to do, is present which shin you want kicked.”

“That would only hurt yo—"

“The shin. _Present it.”_

“I’ve been preparing the mortals for your return.” Elder Kettle pressed, words spilling out rapidly. “They’re not opposed to the return of the gods, and it’s safe for you to—” The kick delivered was swift, cracked Mugman’s leg almost entirely off, held together only by the shadows that had wrapped around it a split second after impact, and left a dent. Elder Kettle wheezed, face contorting.

Then Elder Kettle burst into flame. In the light of the golden fire, Mugman’s face was _murderous._

“ _You’re still heavy.”_ He hissed, and Cuphead’s shadow moved, sliding across the floor until it was under Elder Kettle, then, Elder Kettle was gone, and the light of the sun shone bright once more. Cagney, who’d lifted the roof off at some point, though how, no one knew, clapped.

Cuphead nudged shoulders with Mugman, who’d buried his face in his hands, trying to hide the tears dripping between his fingers. Hilda and Djimmi, after sparing one last glance at the brother’s, vanished. Though, not before Djimmi offered a trip to a void the boys to scream into later. Hilda slapped the back of his head, hissing something at him before being wisked away by a flash of light. Rumor was hastily writing things down on a note pad she’d plucked from the ground, furiously scribbling what Bon Bon could only guess was potential battle tactics the boys could use. Cagney set the roof down, watching Grim look to the sky, wings twitching anxiously.

====-====-====-====

Sally stared up at her first theater, eyes skimming over the pristine paint, the gleaming lights, the well cared for entrance. Her presence alone had caused the doorman to start shaking. She felt her breathing hitch, and a tear, then two more, then too many to count, started spilling down her cheeks. She hugged the doorman, babbling thanks in countless languages as one hand lovingly pressed against the smooth metal of the doorway. Word spread insanely fast, and though her ears picked up whispers, she didn’t realize the whispers weren’t fearful.

Not until she pulled away, bawling like a baby, and hugging the wall of her beloved building. Through her tears, she caught various faces going slack with relief. When she wasn’t busy wiping snot off of her face with a hanky shakily offered to her, she would be able to wrap her head around the knowledge that the mortals had heard of her return and gone about dolling the place up. It had never fallen into disrepair, followers remembering the better days within the storage rooms unable to destroy the place. She ushered those who wanted to into the building, declaring her intent to explain herself to them, to apologize.

Apologize she did, moving the crowd to tears with her heartfelt words. She originally intended to be silly, maybe even dramatically bursting into the door of her theater, making a grand entrance. But, at the sight of the theater she’d not seen in a century, clearly cared for, clearly loved, she lost it. She spoke of her intent to simply watch what wonderful things the mortals had created. She wouldn’t do a single thing until she’d seen just how grand they’d become in her absence. Though she wanted to prove to them that she wasn’t going to hurt someone for messing up, she wasn’t sure how to go about that. Telling the audience such, she was met with reassuring noises, laughs, praise… She was overwhelmed once more.

The first play done in her theater was written by mortals, who all spoke of it with great praise. She didn’t feel the driving need to fix their mistakes, to critique the actors. She found herself relaxing, simply letting the story pull her along. She’d clapped furiously, throwing roses to the stage, her Domain had cooed, eagerly basking in the energy of the room.

She showered compliments on them, and when someone presented the script, she pushed it away. Though she knew she had a safety net of two tiny porcelain children with shadows far too dark for their frail little bodies, she was afraid. She didn’t realize just how badly she missed the stage, missed just sitting there, enjoying something for what it was, rather than obsessing over what it could be. She told them such. She’d gladly continue to write stories, even watch play if people wanted her to before the play was released to the public. She’d gladly tell them her feelings about the play then, about how she felt before it, during it, after it, but if she didn’t write it, she didn’t want to see the script. She decided that the actors would convey it far better to her than reading it would. It would take her a few years to shed that fear, but until then, she was going to try and pace herself.

They’d agreed, equally invigorated to start anew with a goddess who’d been loved for centuries.

When the boys eventually came around, true to their word on exploring the world, she put on a play for them. It was Little Blue Bell, and her cheeks burned from smiling so much at the response it got from the two. Even more so when Replimug and Puphead appeared on stage, expressive, bright, and happy where they were. She’d later get Mugman on stage, and when Cuphead shot her a knowing glance as weaponized cute stunned the audience, she’d preen. Though he wouldn’t ever be certain of it, she was, and her goal was to show off two wonderful children who gave her back the joy of the stage.

====-====-====-====

The Phantom Express pulled to an easy stop outside the temple dedicated to it. Chalice hid in the tender. Througout the trip, she’d done nothing but apologize, ashamed that her arrogance had drowned her. Hott was silent, letting her have her say, well aware any anger from before, though still present, wasn’t near as strong. Those on board were equally aware of Hott’s inability to truly hold a grudge. They could though, and they forbid her from going into the cars. T-bone threatened to throw her off if she so much as made Hott twitch. Blind Specter didn’t speak to her, but he glared, leaving a trail of eyes to stare her down, the statement that she was being watched never more clear. The two brakemen were eyeing her balefully through the window of the workers car even now, refusing to leave her alone with their beloved deity.

The anger was briefly forgotten when Hott was swarmed by a crowd of eager mortals. They showered him with affection, hugging however they could, proudly showing off the gorgeous offerings put down for him at the door of the temple. Wishes of his healthy return were clear, the response to it even more so. The workers too were hugged an impressive amount. All of which fell still when Chalice was finally noticed. The thing that hurt her the most wasn’t that the mortals all immediately reacted negatively. It wasn’t that the workers did nothing to defend her. It was that, instead of running, or even trying to fight her, they swarmed her brother, putting themselves between her and him.

No one dared raise a hand against her, but they were all too willing to defend him. She collapsed, pride mercilessly crushed by that point. Her failure as a sister, as a goddess, as a warrior, had curb-stomped her pride the moment she’d gotten out of the red child’s Domain. She didn’t cry, didn’t grovel, but she did remain silent, her forehead pressed against the ground as she bowed deeply to them.

“I’ve failed to a degree I never thought I could. I wronged countless mortals and gods alike.” She started, raising herself up so she could be heard, but doing nothing else. The only audible sound she could hear was the steady pulse of her brother’ fire-box.

“I beg of you, not to forgive me, it would be an insult to my brother to try. No, I beg of you to continue protecting my brother. I failed, he was left at the mercy of the angry dead I left behind. It was not me that came to his aid, it was you. I ask that you continue to do so. I have lost my spear, my will to leave a path of destruction, my drive to fight. I’m uncertain as to what I will do from here on, but until I gain my bearings, until I prove myself to him once more that I am worthy enough to be his sister, I beg you to protect him.” She fell silent, voice shaking, fingers digging into the dirt at her sides, chest shaking with suppressed emotion.

“You got a long road ahead of you.” One finally said.

“We’ve learned some ways of calming the dead.” Another added in.

“Of course, we’re going to protect him you dingus. And you better mean that!” Another shouted, Hott whistle-snorted.

T-bone was the one to tell them to spread the word of two new deities, ones who could bring her down should she fall once more. Though, at the very idea, Chalice paled considerably, looking astoundingly ill at the thought.

“Wee little tykes. Porcelain too! Why, we wouldn’t be here if not for them!” He cried out, glad that whispers kicked up immediately, voices growing stronger as people became ever more interested in meeting the new gods. Chalice wasn’t forgiven, she didn’t expect to be, but she was determined beyond all else to fix what she’d done.

She continued to ride with her brother, just like the first years. When a spirit, angry or upset at their death appeared. Chalice greeted them with soothing tones and steady words. If they tried to break for her brother, she would move, intercepting them, holding them back with her strength, but she wouldn’t fight. She continued to speak until they broke and told her what drove their anger. She’d listen, sharing the knowledge with the family, maintaining a soothing presence the entire time. Though it was slower than before, it worked for now. Even then, their Domain was all to happy to have them back, helping as before.

She eventually did have to fight, especially ones who were too lost. But those times, she kept herself between them and Hott, brutally putting the spirit down with her fists alone. She didn’t feel the old thrill of a battle won as she had before. Only pride that she’d defended her brother. That he was pristine just as before, without a single scratch. Her temple too, was cleansed, the sight of her grew less frightening by the year as people began to accept the new method she employed. She remained content to see her faults drift away with the steam from Hott’s engine. Even more so when two little children joined them on occasion, gleefully watching the scenery pass by as she awed them with countless tales of the past.

====-====-====-====

Kahl and Werner, the moment they appeared in their temple, went about tearing down any and all plans geared towards weaponry, towards battle. They burned the pile before a surprised crowd. The surprise turned to confusion as they began asking for little things people wished would be easier.

Werner strapped a megaphone to a chicken, excitedly showing off the new and improved “chicken finding method”. The confusion died, and relief spread like wildfire. They made it abundantly clear that any and all attempts to steer them towards one line of innovation would be met with an army of bats all enhanced to shriek at painful frequencies. Kahl showed off the robots, impressing many with their strength.

“Say you need a heavy piece of machinery worked with precision, these fellows will do it! A building collapsed? They’ll extend their arms and find survivors without risking further collapse!”

“Ze chicken vill then herald rescue.”

“We’ll have to record it clucking for that.”

“Ve have ze technology.”

“What about medicine?” Someone shouted. “We’ve gotten new machines, but they’re heavy, and cumbersome.”

“Ah yes! The medical field! I’m ashamed to say I went entirely immoral while locked up, but! From that, I’ve learned numerous things! As a word of reassurance, I’ve also discovered what my internal organs look like. New deity was quite amazing that way… Don’t think I’ll ever be able to carve someone up for a while. But! These machines, send them our way and we’ll see what we can do.”

Within a month, any hesitance at approaching them died. Instead, a steady stream of inventions created during their absence was brought to them. They showered the machines with praise for exactly four seconds before descending on it, tearing it apart, finding things that worked and things that didn’t. Indeed, when weaponry was brought to them, the person was chased out by an army of bats and later, an army of chipmunks. They practically devoured the new world, and innovations throughout _everything_ spread. Painters found new canvases, chefs gained new equipment, hospitals healed far more than before.

The two deities gladly fell back into what they’d had so many centuries ago, before they’d fallen. They began to trek through schools, inspiring those who had ideas to _use_ those ideas. If ever either sibling found themselves slipping, they invented a solution. A metal horse that delivered a swift kick to their faces. They’d spring up on the two children as well, just to be certain, especially after an incident involving avocados and ten warehouses full of whiskey.

If nothing else, one would see the other, and immediately start spitting out reminders of how miserable it had been on Inkwell, trapped for so long. If _that_ didn’t work, a mortal labeled one of the corners the shame corner, and they would be strapped there for a day while the other sibling continued building, inventing, creating. People lied when they said the shame corner working wasn’t funny. They lied _hard._

====-====-====-====

Cala Maria stared at her pristine temple, stormy grey marble polished to a mirror shine, and bawled. The mortals nearby managed to get “it took me _hours_ to do that to the docks! How! It’s so beautiful.” In between the ground shaking sobs. Which meant any and all worry of her potential wrath died. They watched her, listened as she brokenly told them how offended she’d been at first because she was an idiot. She tried to tell them she was sorry, but her emotions got the best of her and she’d wound up having to stay underwater for a day. When she went back up, calm, composed, ready to expertly explain what had happened and thank the mortals for caring for her temple, she was ready for whatever was thrown at her.

She expected food, perhaps even pieces of wood, sure they’d be incensed at the mere thought that she’d killed so many of their loved ones simply because she didn’t like the way they replicated her image. She instead was met with numerous drawings people had done of her. Not a single one was done by anyone older than ten. All of them were wobbly, abstract, colorful, and done with care. She proceeded to bawl again and go back underwater for another two days. She’d come to ask that two walls inside her temple be dedicated to any and all artistic offerings done by those who wanted to offer them to her. She made it a point to visit the building, taking in the countless drawings.

She even showed off her own horrible skills, trying to draw a whale and instead ending up with a blob. People then chose that time to show her cameras, and that picture was framed and hung above the door to her temple. She wondered how she ever took offense before,

Cala was intent on learning exactly what had changed in her absence. Watching the fishermen work, watching how they did their craft. She took what they did, and worked with it. Chatting away with sailors on the docks, guiding ships around reefs with ease. When she discovered mortals had learned how to dive down with her, even for brief periods, she’d felt a simmer of distaste stir for but a heartbeat. Then, when she saw how carefully they tread, how they followed her instructions, clinging to her when currents hit unexpectedly, the distaste died. She instead proudly showed off the ocean. Things only aquatic mortals had seen before, she brought to all.

She shared what her Domain had to offer, amusement bubbling high in her heart as her Domain basked in the praise. When the two children visited, she forgot herself, proudly showing them her temple. It lasted until she remembered revenge was still on the table. She smelled like burnt fish for a _month._ But, when she recovered and found two new drawings signed with familiar names, she’d felt fondness for them grow further in her chest. Fondness that only grew as time went by, as mortals continued to rely on her, learn from her, and amaze her with all the astounding things they could do.

====-====-====-====

Brineybeard’s ship was surrounded within moments by other ships, and when songs started, one he’d been famous for joyfully heralded him into harbor, he openly wept. His crew joined those around, voices shaking with relief, joy, anticipation. He’d been unable to, from crying as hard as he was, but no one minded. His temple was exactly as it was before. But, unlike before, adorning the once bare walls were countless songs. Shanties the mortals had written, crafted up in his absence. He hungrily learned each and every one, singing away with other crews as he returned to guiding sailors exactly as he’d done before.

His brother wasn’t received near as well. There were dark frowns on the faces of the sailors. Wally, in turn, puffed himself up, and groveled. Though he did inform them of what had become of his son, he didn’t use it to explain away the ships he’d sunk. He listened to everyone who had lost a loved one to his tantrums, and only further groveled. He stayed on Brineybeards ship, not guiding, but simply watching. He knew any trust in him was dead. People holding him accountable for Brineybeards absence were in abundance. Each and every time they shouted at him, he accepted their anger.

His son offered what he could to help, taking what navigational equipment they’d come up with and carefully offering up suggestions on how to make the devices work better. He gained their trust, becoming known as a demi-god, and slowly, people forgave Wally. The one who took the longest wasn’t any mortal, but Brineybeard. Any instant it seemed like Wally was slipping, he was promptly dumped into the ocean, and threatened by the ship itself. He took it all, and though he slipped up more than a few of the other gods, he never slipped back to his corrupted state.

At one point, he’d even gone to the children, begging them to rid him of his faults. It was the blue one who’d pointed out that if he ever truly slipped, they’d bind him to Inkwell once more, and his son wouldn’t follow.

“He’s not a god, technically. So if you ever do, it’ll be the last time you see your son for a while, maybe even ever.”

That alone made him enthusiastic to watch mortals navigate, read the waves the way he did, avoid storms before he even had to step in. They accepted his hesitant peace offerings. When equipment failed, they still went to him. When storms or rogue waves hit, they went to him. Fog became less of a threat once more, and Wally took his job seriously.

====-====-====-=====

Rumor found her temple not as it was before. Which was fine considering that before she left, she’d destroyed it. It now stood, not a grand monument, but a small shrine. She found mortals tending to the grounds drop what they were doing to hastily scrabble back for the building. Not knowing what else to do, words failing her, she lowered her head, and held her palms out, facing up in a show of peace.

“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” She spoke quietly, barely enough to be heard. She then started on her explanation, trying to hold her chin high, but unable to. They’d listened, the crowd growing larger and larger as more and more came to lay their eyes on a goddess who’d fallen from grace so many years ago. She didn’t realize she’d been crying until someone hesitantly offered up a blanket for her to wipe her tears with. She left makeup smeared across the thing, and only sobbed harder, wailing, babbling apologies.

She was a sorry state for a little, avoiding any who were pregnant like they were plague. She’d openly wept the first time a new mother approached her a year into her return, asking for her help. She’d agreed, but only if doctors could be present. She’d even requested her brother be near in case she messed up. Cagney had agreed, and, when the newborn came into the world, congratulated her.

“There ya go, not a single dead mother in sight sis. Even better news is the tyke isn’t allergic to pollen! Or, you know, she would be dead.” Rumor had screeched, smacking him with all of her hands, reassuring the laughing mother over and over.

“Healthy as can be! She’s got a long life ahead of her I promise. Or I don’t, I don’t know if you want that? Do you want that? You know a long time ago people loved hearing that but then they didn’t and it was because I was horrible and I don’t—”

“Sister if you don’t zip it I’m shoving fertilizer in your mouth.”

“ _I will murder you where you stand you floral fu—”_

“Thank you.” The mother interrupted, holding her tiny baby to her chest. “I’m glad to hear that, and I’m sure others will be too.”

Sure enough, that was the case. Though, when she later asked a mother if she’d be willing to show the two porcelain children the miracle of life, and the mother agreed, she’d been scolded something fierce by Bon Bon. Cagney just told her to be proud to be the cause of Mugman fainting outright and Cuphead repeatedly asking the mother if she was dying.

She was proud if she was being honest. It was funny.

She didn’t really apologize when sickness spread across the land on occasion, merely stood back and let Cagney, Kahl, and Werner do their thing. She couldn’t apologize, not for something she genuinely had no control over. Mortals, as they had before, understood, and the illnesses that appeared did little to deter them. Her temple remained small, but, it gained a list of things she requested of mortals. It was a short list, but adhered to religiously. It was the same with Cagneys. Cagney, who’d been sheepish in his apologies.

He’d not so much groveled as bluntly told the mortals just what he’d been thinking and how hindsight was a bitch. They’d accepted it, well aware of his personality. Even if it took them a little to come to him as before, he was simply happy to not be chased away with pitchforks and fire. He was greeted by the floral mortals by having his head shoved into fertilizer. He’d sat there for a moment, raised his hands above his head, and clapped. That was the extent of his punishment, something Rumor found absolutely hilarious.

Her and Cagney both took to observing the children from afar, making sure they stayed safe when Grim and Bon Bon weren’t present. Their Domain’s found it hilarious. The children’s Domains equally so. They figured they owed that much at least to the two who’d freed them all, gave them back the world.

====-====-====-====

Grim Matchstick landed before the crowd around his temple, opened his mouth, and spoke. Bon Bon would call it one of the worst things she ever let him do.

“Gosh it’s so nice to see living mortals again! Now I got to apologize because if I don’t I’ll get shot again. Even if I wasn’t gonna get shot though I’d still apologize! I’ve come to understand that eating people is right rude. So I’m awful sorry, don’t got a taste for anyone anymore either if that helps!”

The crowd was silent, likely as stunned as the Baroness. Grim then proceeded to thank them for keeping his temple nice and neat, all while keeping his head away from the mortals, likely his way of showing how much he wasn’t going to eat anyone. Baroness gave him a vicious glare but, well aware of his antics, she’d come prepared. She pulled a chicken wing out of her cotton shawl, and waved it under his nose.

Grim took a few sniffs, sneezed a great glob of spit onto her hand, and immediately went about climbing up to his perch on the temple. Many saw death in her eyes that day. But it worked out in the end, people seeing her reaction felt at ease that her temper was more in check. She’d gone to her own temple, requesting all the gold be given out. She kept everything that had had sentimental value, lovingly shining each and every piece, repairing old fabrics, using one of Kahl’s preservation methods to preserve yellowed papers full of recipes carefully crafted.

It took her a month, and during that time, mortals visited her, hesitantly at first. Many simply asking her if she would still protect their homes, their loved ones. She would respond by taking the newly offered recipe, and directing them to the kitchen where she’d watch them cook it up. She’d then take the dish, copy the recipe, give them the copy, and they’d leave with her blessing, their homes guarded for as long as they stood. She started posting the recipes people wanted shared on a chalkboard. When the offering was heirlooms, she’d graciously accept it, and people would find her grand temple decorated beautifully with all sorts of trinkets that held value to those who’d given them over.

When someone tried offering rich fabric, she’d scoffed.

“That thing wouldn’t survive four minutes in my line of work. If all my blessing is worth to you is some silks, perhaps you should try asking Djimmi instead. He’d be more likely to accept it.” Then Mugman cried out that the kitchen curtains were on fire again, and she pointed them to the door while hurrying back, singed apron falling perfectly into place over her front. “I know I’m not going to find a red cup with the torch again! I know that isn’t what’s going to greet me!”

“Hide the evidence!”

“No.”

She believed it was the children she’d taken under her wing who truly sped up the process of mortals regaining faith in her. But she feared for their survival. Especially when Grim came back shouting about how he’d lost track of them in a deep forest known for having all sorts of terrifying creatures. Granted, that’s how she gained a phoenix, but that too was more thanks to Mugman than anything else.

No one liked to talk about the kraken that took a liking to Cuphead. Except Cala, who found it hilarious.

Her and Grim remained close to one another for a while. It was mostly to put mortals at ease. They knew that Grim wouldn’t try anything horrible while she was around, and later, when the children were around. Soon, he didn’t need to stay near her. People began relying on him to guide them safely.

At first, he only guided large groups by his own decree. He assumed it was the best way to get mortals more comfortable with him, and it worked. Slowly he watched smaller groups until it was down to single travelers. Each and every one he guarded expertly. He feared making a mistake that would send him back to the waters of retribution mostly. But, the biggest thing that kept him on track was the heartfelt thanks travelers gave him, giving him friendly pats, or offering a few coins if they could spare it. If not, he was perfectly content to accept the praise.

====-====-====-====

Baroness let the boys wander free for a whole month before her nerves got the best of her and she was out her temple door in search of them. Sometimes she’d catch the way the gold shined in her hands, and feel old pangs of interest spark in her chest. Fearing she was slipping, the moment she was done polishing and cleaning her temple, she was off. She’d told them she was simply there to guide them, teach them. Bless their little souls, all they did was accept. Of course, that was after she’d ripped the jaw off of a mortal who decided scaring porcelain children would be hilarious.

She clung close to them, and when the sparkle of wealth would show itself around her, she’d only cling tighter, chest heavy with the paranoia that she’d become horrid once more. She would then watch the children, watch how happily they explored, watch how their shadows stared back, and give out a sigh of relief. They were joined by the other gods as they traveled, and she was content to give the boys over for a while, returning to her temple to continue performing her duties. But the moment they hit the road once more, she was by their side.

A few of the other gods, sharing the same fear, would increase their numbers for a brief time, and she was fine with that. She even let Elder Kettle join on a few occasions, even if she glowered at him the entire time. She’d send him gloating glances when they called her Auntie, and later, Mama Bon Bon.

She’d cried so badly they thought they broke her, but she just crushed them to her and cuddled for a full three hours. Elder Kettle seemed fine with it, even if the returned stares were unimpressed.

Bon Bon was content, thankful beyond measure for her freedom, even more so for the adorable additions that happened to set curtains on fire on accident.

====-====-====

Djimmi and Hilda were hesitant at first. Unsure how to truly approach their former worshippers. Their temples were still standing, no crowds cried out for their blood, and they were _lost._ They’d even said as much to the mortals below.  They responded by testing the two at their own admission. They showed Hilda the various flying contraptions they’d invented, visibly shaking with nerves.

She’d stared at the planes, the blimps, and asked a single question.

“How fast? Because I’ve got to warn you, I fly fast, so if you want to fly beside me…” The mortals grinned, the mortals brought out what they called jets. Hilda swooned, near drooling at the sleek designs. Djimmi too, had been tested.

“I wish for a glass of water.”

“Done.”

“I wish for a fish.”

“Done,”

“Not a whale?”

“Is that what you wanted? I think Cala would smack me if I did that but…oh you’re laughing. Okay.”

“I wish for world domination.”

“I used to, but man, let’s contemplate this here. Imagine—stay with me—imagine all the paperwork.”

“How do I know if I wish for something you won’t kill me.”

“Because that’s a terrible thing for me to do.”

“You did it before.”

“I did.”

“I want a cookie.”

“Wish I had one too.”

People tried, oh how they tried to annoy him. His only response was laughter, hearty laughter. Hilda too, laughed.

“Oh honey, I’ve done more annoying things in my sleep. I…actually, if you don’t know about the winter of 1722, I ain’t gonna risk it going back into the books.” She snorted.

When planes took to the air, so did she, only, she didn’t aim to tear them down. She watched them, watched the engines roar as pilots soared across the sky, and wonder if Kahl would be opposed to helping them get _faster._

He didn’t.

They got planes that could break the sound barrier within a year.

Djimmi was careful about the way he granted things at first. Using Hilda to decipher _exactly_ what they wanted before he’d grant many of the more intense wishes. A child wanted a bike? He drilled her on the make, model, color, everything. His worshippers found relief in that, no one mocked him for his reliance. When he did get a wish wrong, some tried seeing if they could anger or fluster him, and instead, he’d call in Hilda. She and Djimmi were near glued at the hip for a full two years before they both settled.

Hilda had requested a few of her favorite pilots to show off their planes for the boys when they eventually came to hers and Djimmi’s side of the world. They’d put on a spectacular show that left the boys with stars in their eyes and twin grins on Hilda’s and Djimmi’s faces that hurt from how big they were. Hilda nearly bowled Djimmi over the first time she found a dream where she was a hero, rescuing the dreamer from great beasts. He’d listened attentively, even as plans for a grand temple for the boys grew in his mind. He knew the mortals were starting on it, but he wondered if they’d terribly mind a god thankful to have his sister back helping out.

====-====-====-====

Beppi popped up on the stage to his amphitheater, surveyed the stunned mortals who were cleaning up stones cracked with age, rolled up his sleeves, and humbly requested they be so kind as to let him help. He didn’t try to get a laugh, didn’t try for a joke, just accepted a very hesitantly offered sponge, and got to work. His temple fixed itself under his presence, cracked stones becoming like new with each pass of the sponge. Still, he cleaned, until he was approached after cleaning the same spot on a seat for ten minutes.

“We… We kept using it for a while, but,” The bunny froze when he turned to give her his full attention, and he wordlessly urged her to continue. “But it started to crumble about twenty years ago. So we had to stop. Elder Kettle came by not too long ago, telling us you’d be returning and we…”

“I…” Beppi started, clearing the lump from his throat. “I’d be _honored_ if you’d put on a show here again. Even if its just one more. I..” He choked on his words, squeezing the water out of the sponge. “Something you’ve come up with, even if its how you defeated the horrible god of theaters. Just… _Please._ ” He was grateful, _so grateful,_ that instead of pointing out that he was basically sobbing where he stood, she’d simply nodded, relief clear in her eyes, and called for the others to get the news out.

He watched the performance on the edge of his seat, watching it quietly, biting his lip when he thought he’d shout, fearing that they’d stop the performance if he did. By the end of it, he was the first up, clapping, congratulating them so much he deflated. He took the stage then, in the presence of so many who’d come to his amphitheater, and he just talked.

He gave them the grand story, spinning a tale of a child determined to rescue their sibling from the clutches of death at the risk of his own life. He’d been careful not to get too flashy, keeping his story driven by his desire to get any sort of word out that things would never be as before.

“I won’t be teaching, not for a _long_ time. But, if you’d permit me, I’d love to watch the things you’ve all come up with while I was in my shame corner.” He offered them a weak smile, a pitiful attempt to comfort himself as hundreds of eyes stared at him. Then, a raven agreed, and he was floored by the wave of acceptance. He’d given up on pretending not to cry right then and there.

He returned to his boisterous self a few months in, more sure of himself. He was content to simply watch, much the same as Sally was. Where it took her five years to hesitantly show the mortals one of the plays she’d created while locked away, it took him ten to do the same. His followers though, were patient, and he didn’t think he could ever be happier than the first time actors performed his play. He’d openly wept, throwing roses and balloons at the stage. He made sure to put on the best performance he could when the boys came around, screaming gleefully into a mental void as they cheered in their seats.

He even got Cuphead to perform a few times, proudly showing him a few extra tricks sure to leave an audience amazed. Cuphead immediately used one of the more dangerous ones to give his brother a heart attack.

Beppi was proud.

====-====-====-====

Ribby and Croaks were brash, always had been. They were well known for being rather loud in their ways, but when they found their temple, with a barge exactly like their old one sitting quietly in the harbor, they’d been silent. They’d gone around to each of the mortals there, thanking them with so much emotion it choked them up more often than not. It took some time, but they decided they had it easier than most when their penance was simply having referees judge their battles, ones entirely impartial. Though their Domain found that a bit insulting, they took it.

Every battle was judged fairly, both siblings put everything they had into their fights, desperate to soothe the fears of those in the sporting world. They were careful to only allow people to visit while in the presence of the temple, seen by any and heard by all. Though only one had undergone the hasty version of retribution, neither wanted to go through it again. Neither wanted to be stuck on Inkwell again either, so if it meant crushing their pride, they did so with gusto.

They’d been double sure to apologize to Mugman, politely avoiding laughing when a roach approached the two, sending Mugman up onto Cuphead’s shoulders, clinging to his brother’s head and screaming. Mostly because Bon Bon had threatened them with a shot to the pelvis if they so much as sneezed at the scene.

It was difficult made all the more so when Cuphead eventually tripped and wound up falling so a few spiders had to catch them.

They persevered, as they always had, openly chasing out any who tried offering bribes to them. Shunning any who tried cheating, never falling back to old times.

====-====-====-====

Goopy Le Grande didn’t sob like his sister, but he did stare in awe at his temple. He ran his hands across the smooth stone. When a mortal spoke up, he wobbled, too overwhelmed to say anything but ‘thank you, I’m sorry’ over and over. The mortals let him, then, once he was done, showed him the new modes of travel they’d come up with while he was gone. While they weren’t sure exactly what had happened, they knew he’d destroyed boats with motors most of all. So, they’d found more efficient modes of making their boats go faster. Great wheels on the barges that were far too large to do any real harm.

He’d explained it then, angry at himself that he never thought to do that clearly enough in the first place. After that, acceptance of him was quick. He continued to nudge boats around, helping them safely through his waters the way Cala and Brineybeard did out in the open ocean. When boats sank, he’d be there to heft them back up, putting them safely on land, careful in his every action. He was just as brash as the victory brothers, but being brained by a shoe was a great way of keeping his head clear. Especially now that that shoe had a shadow darker than it had any right to be in his opinion.

====-====-====-====

The Root brothers were just the same as Cagney and Rumor, except, the moment they sprang up in their temple, they’d varied in response. From Weepy…weeping, to Moe promising to grow the best damn produce the world had ever seen, to Psycarrot immediately asking if they were needed anywhere, if at all. The way he asked it, hesitantly, with his hands hidden in the dirt, arms belying the tremble despite the effort, had gotten the best response.

They avoided the tears Weepy couldn’t quite contain, shied away from Moe’s loud declaration, but Psycarrot got simple nods. People were tense, reasonably so. The brothers had no doubt why they were, and strove to prove themselves. Though it was much harder than they originally thought. Memories of Weepy’s burning tears lingered, and mortals refused to go near them for long. Many farmers begged them to spare their crops. Those times hurt the most to the brothers, and they often did as asked, not even offering to bless the land instead.

They could wait for however long it took to regain the trust. Cagney helped of course, but he was in the same boat as them. Only, where he could gain their trust back simply by being pretty, and blunt, they couldn’t. They wound up becoming more earnest in the way they showed themselves. Weepy wept less, or if he did, he pressed his face into the dirt. Dirt that Moe immediately swept away. It was messy at first, with plenty of places in dire need of a boost but unwilling to let them potentially ruin what mortals had managed to scrounge up. Despite that, they kept at it. Helping any and all who requested it without hesitation, they grew the trust back. Cultivating it until it sprouted and grew into warm greetings once more.

Until people approached them not with half-starved faces out of desperation, but healthy faces, simply asking for a spot of advice or for their opinion on a new crop. They took the victory graciously, whispering to one another late into the nights, memories of deep fog, heavy, oppressive air, and crops that grew only because they shoved as much of themselves into it as possible remaining fresh no matter how much time passed.

====-====-====-====

Elder Kettle sat at the side of the fountain he hadn’t seen in years. The moment he appeared on Inkwell, he’d gotten a rock to the face and an entire branch falling on him, but after that, and heavy air warning of pain to come, he was able to simply sit by his siblings side. The two were quiet, having gone through the customary trade of information a few hours ago. It had lasted two full days, and both brothers were content to simply relax now. At least, for a little.

“What’s with the dent?”

“…”

“Blue one?”

“Yes.”

“Called it… Throwing your cane in the water does nothing…”

====-====-====-====

Exactly three hours after Elder Kettle reemerged, the boys left. They simply strolled along the path, taking in the new sights and sounds. They shied away from new people at first, despite their Domains reassuring them over and over, they were safe. It wasn‘t hard to realize after two weeks in that word was going around about two new deities. It was even easier to figure out where the stories were coming from based on how elaborate they were. For a brief time, King Dice joined them, pointing out the various ways of reading people without relying on their Domains.

“Domains aren’t always fast, and you might not get what the things are saying at first. Mine loves to ramble on and on, same with my brothers. If you can read someone’s intent before they even know they’re showing their hand, you’ll be plenty safe.” He’d explained. He’d then led them to the nearest city to practice. They were lucky enough to not be noticed by anyone, allowing them proper time to examine those around them. But, a week later, and King Dice was gone again, not that they expected any different. They didn’t stay alone long either. Bon Bon basically popped up overnight, greeting them warmly with the scent of polish heavy on her.

She’d taken up teaching them, but neither brother missed the fear in her eyes when someone dressed to the nines strolled by. They simply acted up, calling her attention to something they pretended interested them or got into little spars with one another. She’d vanish every once in a while, and the two would settle with another deity, letting them show off the best of the towns in the area. When alone, they relaxed. So used to only seeing each other, it was far too much to fast every once in a while, and they found that their Domains realm offered peace. They’d sit on the scales, balanced perfectly above the dark waters below. Mugman, with a cat on his lap and a dog acting as his pillow, Cuphead, with his own Domain rumbling away as his own pillow.

It was a lot, but they adored every second of it. Even when the scarier things happened. When people too off their rocker ran into them. When dangerous people approached them, their Domains were quick to act. Those that did manage to hit one found themselves dragged into pure agony by the other. If Bon Bon didn’t get to them first. Or Cagney, or Rumor, or, on one notable occasion, Cala Maria.

Even better, at least to them, their Domains joined in on the games they once played with one another, namely, the prank wars.

Cuphead had being in the middle of adding salt to a pie instead of sugar, trying to suppress the snickers as he did so, when he found himself lit up like a firework. Fire crackled off of him, not burning, but acting as a beacon to all. He squinted at the shadow cast by his brother, staring back at him with curved eyes.

“Nark.” He hissed.

Later on, Mugman walked into the main room of Bon Bon’s temple, dripping wet. When asked, he’d sipped the tea offered, winced when it started to overflow with dark water, and replied.

“I hid Cuphead’s head. He hasn’t found it yet.” Then he pulled a feather out of his mouth.

“Its in the cupboard you weenie!”

“ _What cupboard, you sadist!”_

“ _Who taught you that word?! I want_ _answers.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gotta adjust that chapter number, since, unless anyone asks for anything else. This really is the end of Corruption. One shots will eventually come about in the oneshot set i've got, but that's about it. I debated going into more detail about Mugman's Domain since it didn't see too much limelight, but ultimately, i decided this was more sweet. 
> 
> It was a set of snapshots mostly, but I hope you enjoy it!


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